#i am tagging him because of the developing

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You have no idea how your reblog made me cry. I had forgotten I had written this fic (It's the second I posted, and you can tell by the quality of it) and you caught me in an especially sensistive day. When I wrote it, the only thing I intended was to tackle consent issues in Westeros with a kind partner, and it was right after I watched the episode where Aemond went looking for Aegon in the brothels. The way my skin crawled! Of course men can suffer it too, and I was glad to see it on screen, but I knew they probably wouldn't do it justice, which prompted me to write this. The butchered treatment they gave it in S2 (One could argue the opposite point too, considering it may as well be him going back to his groomer, yet they didn't tell or show that, did they?) vindicated me.

I have never read the ASOIAF books, and I stopped watching the show after the first season, because it was that triggering to me. The amount of violence towards Dany, Brienne, the casual cruelty of men like Tywin and Joffrey, it was enough to kill me a little.

The start of HOTD wasn't promising either. While it depicts sexual violence in a subtler manner, it is still there. Aemma and the horrible opening scene, Alicent and even Helaena and Aemond at some points have made me cry. I have also cried reading fics from these fandoms (Fem!Jon Snow has so fiercely disgusted me sometimes by the things they do to her I have not stopped thinking of it for days) and I found I didn't have the heart to write violence that aligned so much with what I myself suffered. For some readers it can be interesting or freeing, the same for the writers, and I am not here to judge. But it is not for me. And it will never be. I am aware that my writing might not be for everyone either, it's why you will see my fics always properly tagged, and exageratedly so. It is also why I have left other fandoms, which are centered around violence even more than this one.

I just wanted to write what I needed to read at the time. It is also why I will always hold some degree of empathy for show Aemond, despite knowing he is a war criminal. I am interested to see how his relationship with Alys will develop.

To hear that my fic has touched your heart for its themes, and that you didn't think me silly or something for not portraying him as some sort of insensitive, evil person who is absolutely unfeeling means more than you know.

Anyway, sorry for traumadumping (More like ranting) on you. Thank you for reading and for feeling so touched by my words you decided to let me know.

Death in four moves (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Queen Alicent is starting to notice your lack of pregnancy. You discuss it with your husband, and come out a stronger marriage because of it.

A/N: No one dies in this one, guys. Just quoting Tyrion. For a more detailed warning, click read more and scroll until after the dots.

Warnings: Fluff. Discussions of SA, sex, erotic novels, infertility, miscarriages, and pregnancies (None actually happen in the fic)

Catapult /ˈkatəpʌlt/

noun

a forked stick with an elastic band fastened to the two prongs, used by children for shooting small stones.

In Cyvasse, a catapult can take out a dragon.

“It’s the third month you bleed.” Queen Alicent said, with a hint of disapproval. She had perfected just the right amount of passive aggressiveness when being nosy. Your eye twitched slightly. You understood now the resentment Princess Rhaenyra held for her, with your sheets being examined by the Queen daily, your moon’s blood carefully tracked and advised on when the best moment was to conceive. “When will you make me a grandmother?”

You sipped at your tea, buying yourself a few seconds to answer. You were having tea in Haelena’s chambers, a family meeting, if you will. More like an intervention, truly. Alicent sat next to Aegon, who was in his cups already and seemed uncaring about the discussion.

“Mother, you are already a grandmother.” Aemond pointed at the hostess herself, who was on her hands and knees showing a bug to her children. The twins blabbered to her, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the scene. Seated next to Aemond, you gently squeezed his forearm in silent thanks. His lips barely curved up into a smile. Despite his kindness in helping you out, you knew what the Queen’s response would be. It was like you were actors in a well-rehearsed play, one that had been repeating for the past six weeks.

“Yes, but those are your brother’s children. I want you two to make me a grandmother, too.” The Queen explained, smiling at him. The first month, there had been relative peace. Aemond couldn’t have knocked you up that fast, everyone reasoned. Not while still attending to his duties in the way he did. But when the second month came, and the sheets were stained red once more, Alicent had been disappointed.

Being Aemond’s wife was not an easy task. At the rate it was going, you were starting to think it would have been easier, inheritance disputes aside, to be married to Aegon. It was not that Aemond was unkind. On the contrary, he was most amenable. He cared about you, treating you with respect and even making efforts to be friendly. His mother was the problem.

You see, when the time came for Aemond to be married, Queen Alicent had handpicked you, from all the eligible ladies in the realm. The bride for his favorite children had to be perfect. She had had, I kid you not, a list. The girl Aemond married had to be smart, to be able to match him and converse about the topics that interested him, but not too educated, less she had ideas about her role in society. Devout to the Seven, but not superstitious. Brave, but not brazen. Kind, but not overly so, less she was too familiar with those beneath her. Pretty, but not one of those intimidating beauties or too aware of it. A maiden, pure and sweet, but not innocent. And so on, the list went. You weren’t too sure what she had seen in you, but she had decided you were perfect for him.

Aemond, mother’s boy as he was, had been willing to try. And he was pleasantly surprised with you. Yours wasn’t the most passionate of marriages, but you were good friends. He enjoyed your sense of humor, and you two liked the same books. Marriages were built on less. But there was the issue of consummation. Or well. There was no issue, since it hadn’t happened yet.

Neither of you dared tell Alicent that the first night, when you had come to him in your wedding gown, shaking with fear, he had done you the kindness of sitting on the bed with a goblet of wine and pulling out a deck of cards. You remembered clearly the way he had drawled, so effortlessly self-assured “I was uncertain whether you knew how to play Cyvasse, but guessed this was a safe bet.” You had nearly laughed in relief, sitting next to him and explaining you didn’t know how to play it, but cards you could do.

It had gone like that, for three long months. Aemond came to your chambers once a week, and you two played cards or just sat down talking for the whole night. He had even started teaching you Cyvasse. You didn’t mind it. He was an attractive man, your Prince, but you two had been strangers before the wedding. It was sweet, and you were a practical woman. You had all the perks of marrying a prince, and none of the hardships. If this were what your entire life would be like, you could handle it. And you would have, were it not for your mother-in-law.

A knock on the heavy wooden doors jolted you out of your thoughts. The guards announced the Grand Maester.

“Just on time.” Queen Alicent muttered, and became him over with an imperious hand. The old man stepped closer, holding a jar with some dirt? At least to you, it looked like that. The Queen took it from his hands, and opened it, grabbing your tea cup and stirring it into the drink before you could protest.

“Hare liver, pulverized with salmon. I had the maester prepare it for you, dear girl! You will have it at every meal.” Alicent beamed. Your grip on Aemond’s forearm became deathly. Aegon started laughing, before flinching suddenly. You weren’t able to tell if the one who had kicked him under the table had been your husband or your mother-in-law.

“I truly think there is no…” Aemond started to say, before getting interrupted.

“It is said to aid conception.” The Grand Maester bowed. His tone showed he wanted to be anywhere else but here, trapped between Alicent’s hopeful look, Aegon’s amusement and your indignant glare. His urge to leave was evident, not even flinching at the glare Aemond directed him for interrupting.

“Thank you, my Queen.” You answered, graciously. “Thank you as well, Grand Maester.” The man bowed again and exited the room. You eyed your now ruined tea, and Alicent. Her smile didn’t waver. You could tell she was waiting for you to drink it, and so, you smiled back and brought it to your lips.

It had to be the most foul concoction you had ever tasted. It was fishy and oily and oh so salty. You nearly spat it out, but controlled yourself, digging your nails into Aemond’s arm until he squirmed in pain. Aegon laughed again, before nearly choking in his haste to speak.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” While he laughed, you quickly took his cup and intended to drink his wine to get the taste out of your mouth. He made a grab for the wine, but so did Alicent.

“I read wine could harm conception.” She explained, passing it back to Aegon, who gave you a superior smirk.

“Mother, please. She looks like she is about to throw up.” Aemond pleaded and took the cup again. Aegon protested, but he brought the cup to your lips, urging you to drink from it. “Let her have it.”

“Aemond, I’m trying to help you both.” Alicent huffed. You quickly drank, less she tried grabbing the cup again. “We should do all that the books said. I have been reading on the topic, and I assure you…”

“I read…” Aegon interrupted loudly, giving you a wink. You knew he was about to do something disruptive, and that he would hold it over both yours and Aemond’s head for letting you escape. “Female pleasure is of the utmost importance for the woman to fall pregnant. So tell me, brother. Have you been pleasuring our dear…”

“Aegon!” Alicent yelled, slamming a hand over his mouth. “How can you say such things, with your children in the room? By the Seven, what will your brother’s wife think? That we are a family of…”

Aemond grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room.

“You have to tell her.” You said, as soon as you were outside. He was gently pulling you along towards the gardens. “I’m not drinking anymore of that stuff. And careful, or else I will ask her to give you some too.” It had been the last straw. Your sheets being checked, you could take. Her not so subtle nudges towards laying with your husband on certain days, you could too. But being prohibited wine, and forced to take the concoction with every meal, was not something you were willing to do. Not when it was not an issue of fertility, but of the lack of… Intimate relations between you two.

“I don’t want to disappoint her.” It was said quietly, but it broke your heart. You took his hand and squeezed. One of the things you disliked about your new life was the amount of pressure Aemond was under. He had quickly become your best friend, and you liked to think you were his too. It hurt you, to see how much he pushed himself and how the nerves and worries ate him away. You knew perhaps he didn’t return your feelings, which had been steadily growing since the chaste kiss you had shared in the Sept, and all the sleepless nights spent playing games and talking, but you loved him. And it always hurt, when those you loved were in pain.

“I doubt you will. She loves you. Just because you would rather not be a father yet…” You smiled at him, trying to sound sure of yourself. In truth, you knew the Queen would be disappointed. She so wanted Aemond to be a father. He was her favorite. A baby from him would be a dream come true.

“I do want to be a father.” It was said very quietly, almost a confession. You turned towards him, unable to believe your ears. Aemond was pointedly looking towards a bush of roses, not making eye contact. His posture, normally so perfect, was a bit slouched, as if trying to curl into himself. Ashamed. He was no fool, to not be aware of your feelings, so that meant…

“Oh.” You blinked. It felt like something shattered inside you. It was not children he disliked, but you. A few tears sprang to your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined. You wanted him to be happy, even if not with you. Lowering your eyes, so he didn’t see your heartbroken expression, you answered.“Oh. Well. I’m still a maiden. We could ask the High Septon for an annulment.”

Aemond turned to look at you, bewildered. Then, a scowl took over his face, purple eye narrowing in anger.

“Annulment? Why would I want that? Is that what you want, an annulment?” His voice was starting to raise, slightly. You shushed him, frantically. But he kept going, stepping closer, hands grasping roughly at your shoulders. Aemond forced you to look him in the eyes. “You dislike me that much?”

“No. No. But if you are not attracted to me…” A few tears fell down your cheeks. You hated it. You didn’t want him to think you were manipulating him. It was distasteful, your mother had always said. Crying for a man to stay, it was not behavior befitting of you. “A lady should never beg for any man to stay. Not even a Prince.” She had always said, and you tried to live by it. But she had clearly never met Aemond.

Aemond’s lips pursed in the way they did when he was thinking about something deeply. Was he actually considering your offer? The thought made more tears spring to your eyes. He looked torn. So, this was it, you were going back home. Annulment and ruin. No one would believe you a maiden with Alicent’s efforts, with how often Aemond visited your rooms. Who in their right mind would think two young newlyweds were spending their nights playing cards and board games? It stung, to think you had had one job, and you had failed. Bed your husband. Produce children. Any child, not even a boy. It was meant to be easy. You were a failure.

Before your thoughts could spiral even further, towards becoming a Septa and watching the man you loved marry another, Aemond surprised you. With a shaking hand, he brushed your tears away.

“It’s not that, either. I like you. I might even love you.” Aemond’s eye doesn’t meet yours, and it’s only that what halts your heart from roaring in happiness. You frown, rubbing at your temples. A headache is starting. Why must everything be so difficult? He is saying the words you have longed to hear for weeks, yet… Something is off.

“You can say that you don’t like me. It’s alright.” Perhaps it is dishonesty. Perhaps he is only saying it, so you don’t feel bad. Aemond is considerate like that, never wanting to upset your feelings.

Aemond glares, giving you a stern look, as if daring you to try to explain his own feelings to himself. You shrink slightly.

“No. I like you, truly. It’s just that….” He trails off, and you want to scream out in frustration. Your temper is starting to rise, too.

“What? If you are so attracted to me, you should find it easy to bed me.” You spit out, almost daring him to contradict you.

“Nothing is that simple.” Aemond says, rolling his eye. You feel the urge to shake him, but you don’t. You are a Princess now. A Princess would not shake her Prince husband, no matter how foolish he acts. You breathe in, then out. Your response comes out, tersely.

“Love is a simple thing. It’s us who insist on complicating everything.”

“It is not my love for you, what makes me hesitate. First times can be…” And at that, you almost laugh in relief. So, that is what makes him hesitate? Fear of hurting you?

“Painful? I know, but I trust you.” You grab his hands in yours and look up at him, trying to showcase your sincerity. Your eyes are wide and earnest. But Aemond pulls out of your grasp, frustrated.

“'Tis I, who doesn’t trust you.”

You recoil, immediately pulling back. Your mother had always said you were a kind girl if a bit self-centered. And it was showing. You had never thought yourself the source of his worries, or had you ever thought he could think you're capable of hurting him.

“Aemond…” It comes out in a broken little sob. You knew people said things in fits of anger they didn’t mean, but you could tell he meant this. He didn’t trust you with his body.

Aemond tangles his hands in his hair, messing it up.

“Not like that. Just… You come to me pure, but I’m not. I have laid with a woman before.” It only makes you more confused. You are trying not to make assumptions, but it is a strange thing to say. It’s expected, especially for a man of his station. You wouldn’t have dared demand purity from him, in the way men demanded it from their wives. It was natural, even. Your positions in life were different. No one, not even the Queen herself, chided a man for his lack of chastity.

“Alright. I don’t mind it.” You answer, tentatively. You really hope, this time, you get it right. But the silence that follows is defeating.

Aemond’s hands ball into fists by his side. He loosens them, before balling them again. He is trying to hide their trembling from you, you realize. A pit forms in your stomach, knowing that whatever he is about to tell you, it’s bad. Something so terrible it might be better to not even speak it aloud. You have seen this man get into fights with his nephews, spitting out the worst slurs. You have seen him defeated by Ser Criston, beaten up, bruised badly. You have seen him hurt by his father's lack of care, cast aside in favor of others. But never once, never once, shaking in the way he is now. It terrifies you.

You don’t dare touch him, or comfort him in any way, when he is trying to calm down so hard. His breath is shallow, posture hunched, as if trying to fight the instinct to flight.

“It was not a good experience. I… I fear it would be like that, between us, and taint our marriage.” Aemond says, very quietly. His eye looks watery, his mouth set into a grim line. As if about to cry. You can tell, that whatever happened, it was much worse than what he says.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say. It had not crossed your mind, that it wasn’t you what repelled him, but the act itself. You long to hug him, but can tell touch is not what he wants, right now. You remember then, all the times he evaded touches from others, so skillfully. The ducking of an arm when Aegon tries to hug him, turning it into play fighting and roughhousing. How he never initiates affection with the Queen or Haelena. How he has never touched you, apart from a pat on the arm or holding your hand. Or how his palms get so sweaty when he has to do it. How he has not kissed you since your wedding. Perhaps, even the fact that he is always dressed in clothes that cover him completely.

Never having thought about it before, his quirks start to make sense in a way you don’t want them to. It hurts, to think of him being hurt in such a way. It is not something you had thought could happen to a man, but it makes too much sense to ignore. Whatever cloud appears in your eyes, it’s too much for Aemond to handle.

“Oh.” He mocks you, chucking your chin. It’s a gesture meant to put your mind at ease, show you that this is not an unsavable obstacle. You are thankful to him for it, even if it comes at the cost of being the butt of the joke that’s not even funny, much less with the topic you are discussing. But you can pretend for him. You smile, softly.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Perhaps some other day."

Dragon /ˈdraɡ(ə)n/

noun

a mythical monster resembling a giant reptile, sometimes shown as having wings. In European tradition, the dragon is typically fire-breathing and tends to symbolize chaos or evil, whereas in East Asia it is usually a beneficent symbol of fertility, associated with water and the heavens.

In Cyvasse, a dragon can remove elephants from the board.

Aemond pulls down the screen dividing the board. He gives you a smug little look, laying down on the bed only in his sleep shirt. You try hard not to stare, focusing instead on the pieces on the board.

Your catapults are gone, and only your elephants remain. He has captured your King with a Dragon. It’s an odd move. You either are not remembering right or he is cheating.

“That’s cheating! You said the dragon could only move…” You start to complain, frowning at him.

“Diagonally, which is right.” He answers very calmly, looking at you in expectation. You examine the board from all angles, noting that he is right, and he has not cheated. Unless playing with a greatly disadvantaged player is cheating because in that case, Aemond most definitely is.

You take a deep breath and lay down next to him, forgetting the board. Oh, you can feel his pride at having bested you, even without looking at him. And of course, he keeps shifting on the bed, jostling you, lest you forget what you have to do. It’s the customary price, after all. A way to encourage to actually pay attention to his instructions about how the game is played, but also a way for a young couple to start getting to know each other. Your cheeks heat up immediately, when you decide what you will say. You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and mumble so low, it can barely be heard over the crackling fire that lights up the room.

“Fine. As a young girl, I used to steal my father’s dagger and make other children knights with it. I loved playing Queen.”

Aemond laughs, a deep, sincere laugh. His eye crinkles at the corner, a pair of tiny dimples making themselves known. You like how true laughter lights up his face, you decide. It’s cute, but not something that often happens.

“That must have been adorable, wife.” Aemond smiles at you, boyishly. He is about to tease you, you know it. Your heart melts just a little more. “I apologize for being but a lowly Prince.” You start to laugh, but the laughter dies in your throat with his next words. “Perhaps I can indulge you.”

You rush to correct the treasonous words, scared. Aemond is an ambitious man, you have known that from the start. Just as ambitious as he is dutiful, your husband. But you can’t help but wonder if in this case, ambition outweighs the duty he feels towards his family. You don’t know him enough to make a judgment yet. So very gently, with your pulse ringing loud in your ears, you speak.

“I like Aegon. No matter if he is a drunk fool, sometimes. And your father is pretty boring, but alright. And Princess Rhaenyra." You don't say anything positive about her, not when you had learned through this same technique she had demanded Aemond was punished after losing his eye. If you had a chance, you would strangle her. But only a little. Otherwise, it would be treason, and it would be setting the wrong example. Queen Alicent always told you it was best to lead with your actions, and not only your words.

Aemond smiles, pushing your shoulder lightly.

"Not like that.” He complains, but gives you a long look regardless. You know he has noticed your slip, referring to Rhaenyra as an afterthought and only after Aegon. He knows now, without you having told him, what your thoughts on succession are. He is perceptive like that. “I was thinking more along the lines of crowning you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“You never compete in tourneys, husband.”

“For you, I would. If you wished to be Queen, for you, I would.” And it feels like Aemond is promising something else, something more than just being the one to get a crown of pretty flowers. It scares you a little, to be the focus of such devotion. Such honeyed words, too, which you know are unusual for him. The urge to kiss him is strong, but his confession, a few days backs, still weighs heavily between you too. He has definitely noticed you are more careful with your touches now. Still playful, but giving ample time to pull away. Yet, you can’t leave him hanging either. Not when Aemond is trying so hard for you two to work.

“I would, too. You would look handsome, with a flower’s crown.” And thinking yourself so sly, you slide your hand underneath his, laughing. Aemond laughs too, and pulls you towards him, trying to get you to put your head on his chest. You do so eagerly, listening to his heartbeat. At first, it is rushed, and he remains stiff, despite being the one to initiate the embrace. But slowly, Aemond relaxes and starts carding a hand through your hair. You think it feels much like what heaven must feel like.

The motion lulls you to that state between sleep and consciousness, where your head feels fuzzy and full of cotton, and your movements are sluggish. It feels like a dream, the way the shadows dance on the wall, and how his heart pounds steadily under you. You wish you could sink into him, fuse the two of you, as the Maesters of old said soulmates were. Nestle close to his heart, curl around it with greedy little hands, protect him from the world. Your eyelids drop, despite your fight to stay awake. Aemond smiles down at you, amused, and runs his hand over the slope of your nose, tracing the contours of your face. You scrunch your face at him, about to scold him for disturbing you, when he speaks. At first, it doesn’t make sense to you. And then, you realize.

“I was thirteen. Aegon took me to a brothel. I…” It feels like being stabbed, over and over again, tiny sparks of pain in your chest. In your mind’s eye, you can see him. A slightly younger version of Daeron, perhaps with longer hair. A big, purple eye, the other side of his face freshly scarred. Tiny. Terrified. And that you know because you know his growth spurt didn’t hit until he was fifteen, courtesy of your cyvasse games. You also know he was painfully shy and quiet, the product of a childhood filled with mockery and neglect. That, too, he had shared, after a game you knew Aemond had lost deliberately, feeling you were losing more embarrassing stories than he was sharing. Still, you hadn’t minded.

It hurts to think of your awfully kind husband being taken against his will. You doubt, had you been him, you could have survived it. Being violated so… It aches so bad, tears start filling your eyes. But you do not speak, less you break the spell and Aemond clams back up.

“I… I didn't want you to think I was weak. You are one of the loveliest things I have had, in a long time.” He says, voice breaking slightly. You shift in his grip, and look him right in the eye.

“You are not weak.” You enunciate, clearly and slowly. And you hope your sincerity shines through your eyes because you do believe it. Unable to speak a word, silenced as he was by shame, you think you would have broken much earlier. That Aemond stands, whole, before you and speaks the words aloud after so much time, says leagues about his character.

“I was meant to come out of it a man. It went…wrong.” He tries explaining, but you shake your head.

“You were not in the wrong.” You make a mental note to try to strangle Aegon later. You had known he was a… Interesting character, to say it kindly. But this… This took the cake on reckless, thoughtless behavior. He was at least three years older than Aemond, yet he had not half the sense his brother posses. Perhaps, your husband is better suited to be king. After living three months with the Targaryens, you were starting to doubt their closeness to gods. You stomp down your personal grievances, knowing Aemond needs love, not rage.

“May I hug you?” You ask, softly. Aemond laughs, a little watery, and pulls you on top of him. He hides his face in your hair, sobbing softly. You fantasize of killing half the whores of Flea Bottom, Aegon, Viserys and perhaps Alicent, too. You fall asleep like that, limbs entangled with each other and forgoing your ritual of messing up the room and your appearances. Despite it, the next morning, the maids who find you are more convinced than ever before of your closeness.

Elephant /ˈɛlɪf(ə)nt/

noun

a very large plant-eating mammal with a prehensile trunk, long curved ivory tusks, and large ears, native to Africa and southern Asia. It is the largest living land animal.

In Cyvasse, each player has multiple elephants.

It takes you a few sleepless nights to try to find a solution to your problem. Despite being praised often for how learned and bright you were, you couldn’t find an answer to your questions. You see, you have always been a planner. You tackled your concerns by doing research about them and then coming up with an action plan. But there was no research to be done here. You had to work with the facts.

You knew Aemond was not willing to confess to his mother. Nor were you about to betray his trust. But she would keep pressuring, for you to fall pregnant. You could buy time, faking an illness or perhaps even a pregnancy followed with a miscarriage. Yet, you had been chosen not only as Aemond’s companion, but to bring the next generation of Targaryens to the world. And both of you wanted children. He was too proud for letting you get pregnant and pass the baby as his own. Not with the situation with his nephews.

So. You were back to square one. You had to find a way for both of you to have children, and not traumatize Aemond about it. And get Alicent off your back. Research. You could do research about how a lady ended up with a child.

You poured long hours over medicine treaties and concluded this: It was not his member that had to go inside you, but his seed. It would also be useful if you broke your maidenhead in some way, less you ended up trying to give birth still a virgin. So, in theory, Aemond didn’t need to enter you. Just collect his seed, and perhaps you could pour it inside you with a jar or something. Still, you put that thought on the back burner, as a plan b. Oftentimes, the best solution was not the most complex one, and so, you had to at least try to perform intimacy with you. But you didn’t want him to suffer, and so, you decided to approach one of your maids about it.

“Dyana.” You said, as the girls were unlacing your gown and unpinning your hair for bed. “Stay.”

It was low, what you were about to do. But you knew of none else who had gone through something similar. Dyana had been appointed as your maid after having the unwelcome attentions of Aegon on her. There was nothing that could be done, not when the King was so ill, Alicent had told you. She wouldn’t subject him to having to pass judgment on his own son, not in his state. And besides, there had been no harm done, with the girl not falling pregnant. At the time, you hadn’t questioned it. Now, it made you sick to think your brother-in-law, who was always supportive of you in front of his mother, could have hurt her in such a way.

Dyana stayed behind, brushing your hair in front of the vanity. The other maids scurried out in a flock of dresses and chatter. You met her eyes through the mirror, in low candlelight. She was the Targaryen kind of pretty, with hair so blonde it almost looked like theirs. Perhaps that had attracted Aegon.

“I understand you were forcefully subjected to Prince Aegon’s… Advances.” You said, once you were alone. Dyana was very tense, obviously reminding the last time she had been alone with a member of the royal family. You decided to spare her the anxiety over what you wanted, if any, to make this shameful act you were committing a bit less traumatizing. “I have questions about it, from woman to woman.”

The brush clattered to the floor. Dyana’s eyes turned from anxious to terrified. She was frozen, unable to bend down and pick it up. You turned in your stool, to reassure her.

“I'm not going to punish you. I don’t want to know about the act, or reprimand you or blame you.”

Dyana bent down to pick up the brush. Her shoulders remained tense.

“I only want to ask a question. And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to… But if you do, I will reward you handsomely.” You tried putting her at ease, using a soft voice. Much like with Aemond, you stuck to not sudden moves and no touching. To show her that you were serious, you pulled a handful of gold dragons, letting them clatter on your vanity’s table, next to the bottles of expensive lotions and perfumes Aemond had bought you. “But my husband can never know. No one can ever know.”

Dyana raised her head at the sound. She looked at the gold, and stood, anxiously wringing her hands together.

“Milady… That’s a lot of gold for a question.” Dayna’s eyes were fixed on the ground.

“It’s an important question. It requires utmost secrecy.” You answered, handing her half. “For keeping this conversation private, even if you would rather not answer me.”

Dyana took the gold, quickly hiding it inside her pocket. She seemed to fear you were playing a joke on her and would take the gold away at any time. You didn’t blame her, with how badly she had been treated so far. Keeping her waiting would be even more cruel than what you had already done, and so, you asked.

“How do you trust again, after it?” It was a clumsily worded questions, asked in a rush and in a single breath. It came out more like “Howdoyoutrustagain, after… It.” Not the most dignified wording, either. You were supposed to be eloquent, smart. Yet, you were floundering as an overzealous child.

“I…” She had clearly understood, by the look on her face, but didn’t know what to say. How to approach it. Dayna stepped closer, scrutinizing your face. Searching. But for what?

“How can you lay with a man again?” You repeated, trying to sound a bit more self-assured and narrowing down your line of questioning. You knew she was currently in a relationship with a stable boy. He always picked her up on the nights you and Aemond were supposed to bed each other.

Dayna looked at you, expression doing a full one eighty. Her eyes stopped being frightened and turned sad. One of her hands went again to brush your hair, almost in comfort.

“It is not the same man. And. Um. Never in the same way, my lady. He asks. All the time. And not like…” She trailed off, concerned. You didn’t notice, too busy committing her advice to memory. “My lady, you should really speak to the Queen….”

At those words, your head jerked up. Why did she bring up Alicent? Did she really think you could ask her about intimate relationships? Unless… She thought Aemond was… Oh, by the Seven, that was even worse.

“Aemond is not mistreating me. But my cousin’s husband is. I just don’t know what to tell her, having been so lucky.” You lied, trying to sound as convincing as you could. But you knew she wasn’t believing a word out of your mouth.

“Can they mend things?” Dyana asked, and it was obvious she didn’t buy that you were asking for a friend.

“From what I gather.” You answered, tersely. Of that, you were certain. Aemond liked you enough to at least try. You would consult him first, making sure he was not uncomfortable with the idea, but you knew he felt the grains of sand on both your clocks draining, as you did. Time was something you didn’t have. But Dyana didn’t know any of that. She was asking you, even if covertly, if you thought your husband could not be a brute. It showed, in the way her eyes filled with pity.

“Tell her to ask him to be soft. And… Not that, right away.” Dyana blushed, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. You gave her a puzzled glance, confused. If not intimacy, right away, what did she mean? Kissing? “Go slow, do something else….”

“Like?” You tilted your head to the side, hoping for a clarification.

“Mouth. Fingers.” The girl looked like she was about to hide under the table from embarrassment. And truly, it was a bit strange. An unmarried maid teaching a lady about intimacy.

“Oh.” You frowned. Dayna squeezed your shoulder, with very soft hands. “Thank you.”

King /kɪŋ/

noun

the male ruler of an independent state, especially one who inherits the position by right of birth.

In Cyvasse, the goal is to kill the King.

Your research had led you to A Caution For Young Girls. A popular novel between the common folk and that had costed you great effort to acquire. The plan had included a horse, a chicken, Aegon, and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star you had had to defile. You prayed that the Seven forgave you, both for reading such dirty tales and for destroying a copy of their sacred book to hide the book you were really reading. That day, even Queen Alicent had mistaken your newfound devotion for the Seven for a lady praying for a child and had pointed to you as an example for Aegon. In truth, you had been on your knees before the effigy of the Mother begging for forgiveness, and not a child.

It had been for a better cause, you told yourself. If truly were the gods who gave the Targaryens their right to rule, it meant they were favored among the rest of the men. Surely, finding a way to procure a child to one of the most pious, gentle Princes the realm had to offer justified your actions. Surely, Aemond’s devotion made up for your sins, or at least, the seven prayers you had recited under each of their effigies did. Surely, right?

Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing something bad. Literature is meant to open the mind. That’s why yours and Aemond’s studies had been encouraged from a young age. And the novel had certainly opened your mind to new ways of being intimate. You had no clue there were so many ways one could use their mouth, fingers, and openings. And if you had felt aroused by reading it… Literature was meant to be enjoyed, too.

So, the next time you and Aemond were alone, you said there was something you needed to talk to him about. You brought out your notes, and took the Cyvasse board away from the table, placing your research there instead. Aemond’s eyebrows raised at seeing you pull out such an amount of parchment, yet he said nothing.

“You want to be a father. I want to be a mother. We are married. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I have researched for two possible ways of achieving it. Watch…” You pulled out a diagram, crudely drawn. You grabbed a stick, much like the one your Septa used to teach you when you were a child, and were about to start explaining, when Aemond interrupted.

“Is that supposed to be…” Aemond had the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “A… Um… Is that…?”

“Yes, now shut up. I’m trying to explain my plan.” You answered, not even the slightest bit ashamed. Couldn’t he see you were explaining your research? “You see, we don’t actually need to have any kind of sexual contact for me to fall pregnant. We just need to insert your seed…” It was said in a very clinical manner, but Aemond interrupted, again.

“Wife, I know how conception works.” Now he was fully blushing, and you frowned. It was not your intention to make him uncomfortable, so you decided to go straight to the point.

“Alright, so we will skip that part. Fine. We have two options. You either pleasure yourself and spill in a jar, or we build up to intimacy. I researched the way to make that the least traumatizing for you as possible, too.”

Aemond looked at you, for one long second. The silence stretched, and you worried this was going to end up with losing him in the most painful way you could imagine. Your blooming relationship, dead by your tactless hand. Aemond stared some more, his eye narrowed. Then, he burst out laughing. You felt so embarrassed you hoped the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

The both of you stayed like that. Aemond laughing so hard tears sprang from his eyes, and you, diagram still in hand, with what Aemond would later swear was the cutest pout he had ever seen.

“This has to be both the sweetest and strangest thing someone has ever done for me.” He finally said, drying his tears.

“You are not mad? Or hurt?” You asked, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but with a smile of your own.

“Come here.” Aemond widened his stance, and you stepped closer, giving in to his unspoken request for you to stand between his parted legs. With a touch so light, it might not even be there, Aemond tilted your head down and kissed you. You felt as if the world stopped, for a minute. The kiss was clumsy, with him sitting and you standing but you could swear it was the kind of kiss the poets wrote about. You let him lead you, reminding Dyana’s advice, and you could feel the way he smiled against your mouth for it.

“I made my decision.” Aemond said, as you pulled away to take some well-needed breaths of air. Your mind felt like mush, with how dizzying the kiss had been. You had not a single clue what he was talking about.

“Huh?”

“We will try to have the children the normal way. I can learn to trust you enough for it.” And it felt like your heart was singing, with how happy you were. You smiled brightly at him. It was an honor that he was willing to trust you that much, that he was willing to try. You knew, were you him, you would have hesitated more. Aemond was a brave man, you had to give it to him.

You wanted to kiss him silly. But you had promised yourself to keep things at his pace, were he to choose this path. And so, you asked.

“Hug?”

Aemond laughed, and pulled you closer, burying his face on your chest. You hugged back, holding him.

“So, what did your research say? About building up intimacy?” Aemond shifted, looking up at you, purple eye shining with mirth. You spluttered, slapping his shoulder. He laughed again. “You know, in all seriousness… The Seven have given me a strange woman. But I wouldn’t change you for anything.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Detailed warning: Aemond confesses to the reader that the reason they haven’t had sex yet is not a lack of desire but a bit of fear, and describes what happened to him when he was thirteen. The reader does her research and presents it to him, crudely, but he is touched by her gesture.

As a fellow SA survivor, I hope I have managed to portray the struggle to trust a partner again in a manner that is both tasteful and fluffy, with an adequate dose of humor and awkwardness. Writing Honesty raised a few thoughts on the matter of consent in Westeros. I never got to finish GOT because of the same issue. My heart ached for Aemond during the brothel scene, and I wondered about it a lot. I have yet to see it portrayed in any fanfiction. I apologize in advance if it made anyone uncomfortable.

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 11.

viktorxfemale!OFC explicit!

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 5,8K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Do you think Jayce knows?” Renly asked as they strolled leisurely toward the lab.

It was still an odd sensation—walking hand-in-hand with Viktor. His grip was warm, steady, and confident, so matter-of-fact about it, as if this had been their routine for years rather than a startlingly new development. Meanwhile, Renly couldn’t help but feel a little silly. Every now and then, she glanced at him, half-expecting to catch some flicker of hesitation or second-guessing, but no. Viktor had made his choice, and once he decided something, well… it was decided.

“I certainly hope not yet,” Viktor replied dryly, his cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones. “As that would mean he spied on us yesterday, and that would be, how do you say it… disturbing.” The last word rolled off his tongue with a deliberate care that sent a shiver through her thoughts, and Renly silently filed it away.

“But” he continued, “I suppose he might suspect, given our shared absence.”

Renly’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Should we have some fun with him?”

Viktor turned his head to glance at her, his amber eyes sharp with amusement. “I am open to many… perversions, Renly,” he said with an exaggerated air of innocence, “but are you already bored with just me?”

Renly’s step faltered as her face flamed red. She gaped at him, scandalized. “Viktor!”

He didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Ah, there it is,” he remarked with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on the blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks in record time.

She slapped his chest lightly, laughing despite herself. “I am very much entertained, thank you very much,” she said, recovering her composure. “But I’ll remember that comment in case you stop proving sufficient.” Her grin was merciless now.

Viktor chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I fear that one day, I will dig my own grave.” Then, with a sidelong glance, his eyes glinting with amusement, he added, “What does the cunning fox have in mind this time?”

Renly’s mouth opened, ready with a response, but she froze mid-thought, her brow furrowing. “Wait—hold on. That happened twice already! Are you implying that I’m some kind of chaos wrecker?”

“Implying?” Viktor tilted his head, his expression maddeningly composed. “I believe the evidence speaks for itself. What I am implying,” he continued smoothly, “is merely that your name suits you very well.”

Renly blinked, puzzled. “What do you mean, my name suits me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Viktor smirked faintly; his steps measured as they continued down the path. “Ah, so you are unfamiliar with Reynard the Fox?”

“Reynard the what now?” she asked, amused by the sudden detour into what she was sure was one of Viktor’s infamous tangents.

“A trickster,” he began, the amusement in his tone carefully layered with affection. “From old tales. Reynard is a fox known for wit, cunning, and the ability to outsmart everyone around him. A trickster god, if you like. Quite fitting, no?”

Renly’s mouth fell open in exaggerated offense, though her eyes sparkled. “Are you calling me a god, Viktor? Because I’ll take that. But the trickster part? Absolutely not.”

Viktor chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I am only relaying facts, Renly. I cannot be blamed if the description happens to align so well with you.”

She laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, you’re awful. I can’t believe you know something about me that I didn’t even know.”

“Useless knowledge, perhaps,” he quipped, though his voice softened as he glanced down at her. “But it is knowledge nonetheless, and it suits you better than you may think.”

Renly tilted her head, her expression playful but thoughtful. “You know,” she said, her voice growing quieter, “maybe there’s something to that. The power of the names we’re given. After all…” Her gaze flicked to his hand, still wrapped around hers. “You are victorious at everything you do.”

Viktor faltered, her words clearly catching him off guard. His hand tightened gently around hers as he slowed his pace, the faintest smile curling his lips. “You are much too kind,” he murmured, though his tone carried a tinge of disbelief, as if he were still trying to convince himself of the truth in her words.

“I’m just being honest,” Renly said, her voice steady. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I trust what I see with my own eyes. You take the world apart and put it back together in ways no one else can. That’s something only you can do, Viktor.”

He stopped then, turning to face her fully, his amber eyes softer than she’d ever seen. “Victorious, hmm?” he murmured. “Perhaps. But you give me too much credit, Renly. I do not always create—I destroy, too.”

She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Then let me remind you that even gold has to be melted down and shaped before it becomes something beautiful. And you, Viktor,” she added, her voice warm, “are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

His gaze lingered on hers for a moment, searching, before he leaned down to press a tender kiss to her temple. “You are unfairly good at this,” he whispered against her skin.

“At what?” she teased.

“Making me believe.” They stood there for a few seconds, their closeness lingering in the quiet space between them. Renly could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his presence grounding her in a way that felt almost impossible to explain. Her breath softened as she looked up at him, finding something infinitely reassuring in the calm of his gaze.

“Renly,” Viktor murmured, his voice low, “as much as I enjoy this... we still have a task at hand.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused by the sudden shift. “And what might that be?”

Viktor’s smirk returned, his hand slipping gently from hers as he took a small step back. “How should we make Jayce’s day hard?”

Renly entered the lab first, moving briskly toward the kitchen area where Jayce had already brewed a fresh coffee pot. She poured herself a cup, trying to settle into the routine of the day, though her mind was still tangled with the tension of their little, evil plan. As she stirred the coffee, Jayce walked in, his expression warm but slightly hesitant.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, his voice light as he grabbed a cup of his own.

Renly gave him a quick smile, though her eyes stayed focused on the swirling liquid. “Fine,” she said, her tone neutral, avoiding eye contact. “Busy, as always. You know how it is.” She was distant, too distant for Jayce’s liking, but he didn’t press further.

Just then, Viktor entered, his footsteps steady but measured. He offered a polite nod toward Jayce and Renly but said nothing more. The coolness in the air shifted as he moved toward the counter, taking his place beside Renly.

“Morning,” Viktor greeted them both, his voice calm, but there was a subtle weight in the air that hinted at the unresolved tension between them.

Renly offered a polite but stiff, “Morning,” before she took a sip of her coffee, avoiding his gaze. Viktor didn’t miss the hesitation, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached for the coffee pot, filling his own mug.

Jayce, noticing the awkward atmosphere, tried to salvage the conversation. “So... any updates on those samples from last week?” he asked, leaning against the counter, his eyes flicking between them. “I was thinking you might need to tweak a few variables if we want to get accurate readings. I can help?”

Renly sighed, setting her mug down on the counter a little too forcefully. “Tweak? You mean redo them, right? Because the last set was, well... not perfect.” Her voice had a bite to it, though it was disguised as casual irritation.

Viktor’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You can’t expect perfection from the first try.” His voice was sharp, but measured, his irritation hidden beneath a layer of composure.

Renly scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why, of course, silly me. Trusting the years of my education and experience...” She rolled her eyes dramatically, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor’s brow furrowed, his posture stiffening. “If you had waited for the data to process properly instead of rushing ahead, maybe we’d have a clearer picture,” he snapped, the sharpness in his tone now unmistakable.

Renly raised an eyebrow. “Rushing? I was being efficient,” she countered, leaning slightly toward him. “Maybe someone should try not to overcomplicate things.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, tension crackling between them as Jayce stood awkwardly at the counter, watching them both. He cleared his throat, trying to cut through the palpable discomfort. “Hey, hey—guys, we’re all on the same team here, right?” He forced a smile, but it was weak and faltering as he glanced between them, feeling the rift grow wider.

Viktor and Renly both shot him looks, their expressions stiff as they stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island, their energy clashing.

“I’m just saying—” Renly started, but Viktor cut her off.

“You’re just saying a lot of things,” he shot back, his tone becoming sharper. “It’s a pattern, Renly. Sometimes, I wonder if you ever listen to anything I say to you.”

Renly’s breath hitched, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something softer in her expression. “You really think that? That’s rich coming from the guy who thinks he has all the answers of the universe.” Her voice was low, but there was a sting in it.

Viktor’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. The silence in the kitchen felt heavy, suffocating.

Jayce could feel the tension between them thickening. He forced a smile, hoping to steer them back to neutral ground. “Alright, alright. We’re getting off track here,” he said, glancing at both of them. “We’re here to get work done, not argue.”

Renly let out a sharp breath, clearly frustrated, but she didn’t engage with Viktor any further. Instead, she stood up abruptly and headed toward the lab. However, as she reached the door, she paused, turning back with a mischievous smile.

“Ah, one more thing,” she said, her voice soft but full of purpose as she approached Viktor’s chair. Leaning over him, she grabbed his jaw firmly—just enough to make him stiffen, though he didn’t flinch.

She pressed a quick, almost teasing kiss to his lips before pulling away, her grin wide and unrepentant. “You’re cute, you know that?”

Jayce froze. His heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, everything seemed to stop. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened, what he’d just witnessed. His eyes widened as the realization slammed into him—slow, undeniable, and crushing.

He opened his mouth to speak but found that the words wouldn’t come. The tension in the room seemed to stretch forever before he finally muttered, his voice thick with disbelief, “I... hate you both so much.”

Jayce’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them, still frozen in disbelief. “How could you do this to me?” he exclaimed, clutching his chest dramatically. “I almost had a heart attack!”

Renly, now sitting back down with her coffee, couldn’t help but smirk. She let her fingers brush against Viktor’s hand in a casual but deliberate motion, feeling a small spark at the contact. It wasn’t obvious, but Viktor’s gaze softened for a split second before he masked it with a smirk of his own.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, looking at Jayce with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I could’ve been much of a threat, Jayce. But don’t worry, you’ll survive.”

Jayce looked back at them, a mix of exasperation and begrudging affection flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered. “I’m just happy for you two, really. I mean, it’s nice to see you finally getting your act together.” He paused, adding with mock trepidation, “But I’m now genuinely afraid of your combined power. It’s... terrifying.”

Renly chuckled, swirling her coffee absentmindedly. “Oh, it’s not so bad, Jayce. It’s actually a good balance. You should try it sometime.”

Jayce rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I’ll pass on the emotional chaos.” He paused, then smirked. “Still, I’ll give you this—at least you’re not running off with Viktor’s lab notes anymore. That was a genuine concern.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at Jayce’s jab, but he couldn’t resist a smirk. “It wasn’t my idea, Jayce. The mastermind behind this entire setup,” he gestured between himself and Renly, “is all Renly’s doing.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful, mocking frown. “I don’t see this excuse working with the enforcers, Viktor,” he said, his voice laced with exaggerated suspicion. “They’ll still throw you in the holding cells if they catch wind of this.”

Renly gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in mock horror. “What is this? So quick to sell me out?” she exclaimed, shaking her head with playful outrage. “I thought we were partners in crime, Viktor!”

Viktor looked at her deadpan, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I only reveal the truth when it benefits me, my dear. And as much as I appreciate your... ingenuity, I would rather not be implicated in your schemes.”

Renly narrowed her eyes, pretending to be insulted. “So, what’s the plan, then? You’re going to throw me under the bus and leave me to face the consequences alone?”

Viktor leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying the banter. “If the bus fits…”

Renly shot him an amused look. “Oh, you’re so charming, Viktor.”

Jayce chuckled, unable to hold back. “Alright, alright, I’ve heard enough. I officially claim the title of architect of this monstrosity,” he said, waving his hand between the two of them. “The terrifying, unstoppable power couple. It’s all my doing, my creation.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “You may have played a part, but I assure you, Jayce, the true danger lies in Renly’s influence.”

Renly gave him an exaggerated wink. “Don’t worry, Jayce. The true architect might be you, but the real power? All Viktor’s doing.”

Jayce groaned, rubbing his forehead with mock exhaustion. “Just please, for the love of all things sacred, don’t do this again. And, for the love of Hextech, don’t be gross at work. As I’ve helped put the two of you together, I can undo it. That’s a promise.”

Renly grinned and tapped her finger against Viktor’s shoulder, feigning seriousness. “Don’t worry about this one,” she said, pointing at Viktor, who was still leaning casually over his cup, giving Jayce a smug look. “You know Viktor’s favourite lecture—the ‘appropriate behaviour in the workplace’ speech. He’ll make sure we follow the rules. It’s practically a safety lecture on repeat.” She mimicked Viktor’s tone in a deadpan voice. “No inappropriate behaviour around hextech equipment, no distractions—save that for after hours.”

Viktor shot her a look, smirking. “I do try to maintain some semblance of order around here, Renly. It's important to keep professionalism, even in… less conventional environments.”

Jayce put his hands up in mock surrender. “Right, right. I’m sure the entire lab is scared stiff whenever you give one of those speeches, Viktor.”

Renly laughed, adding with a wink, “You’d be surprised how effective they are. You don’t want to risk Viktor’s safety lectures, trust me.”

Viktor gave a light shrug. “It’s a necessary evil.”

Jayce shook his head, trying not to smile. “Alright, I’ll let you two have your little moment but remember—keep it at a 9-to-5 level. No surprises after hours. I don’t need any more ‘schemes’ to manage.”

Renly leaned back, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Jayce. We’ll try to keep things professional... but no promises.”

***

For about two weeks, things had been kept ‘professional’—mostly. Jayce was still wincing at the subtle signals of affection between Viktor and Renly and felt utterly betrayed that the sugar secret was still being kept from him. They spent most of their time together at Viktor’s flat, as Renly, too preoccupied with, well, everything, still hadn’t cleared the hazardous debris from her own.

Lately, however, with finals approaching at the academy, leaving Renly with little time for her own work, and Viktor and Jayce stumbling upon the Hexcore discovery, most of their shared time had shifted to the lab. And so, things had stopped being quite so ‘professional.’

They worked on their separate workloads in silence, but for the soft, intermittent hum of Renly’s voice as she fiddled at her bench. It wasn’t quite a song—more a series of lilting, disjointed melodies she pieced together as she fiddled with her tools. Viktor, perched on the stool at his own workbench across the room, caught himself smiling.

The quiet hum broke into an off-key flourish, and Viktor chuckled, soft and warm.

Renly turned toward him; eyebrow quirked. “What’s funny?”

“You,” Viktor replied without looking up from his work, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You hum when you’re focused. I’d forgotten.”

Renly planted her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Forgotten? I do not!”

“You do,” he insisted, shooting her a teasing glance. “But don’t stop. It’s… endearing.”

She blinked at him, her mock-offense softening into something more thoughtful. After a moment, she shook her head with a small laugh. “This is weird, you know.”

“What is?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely between them, “being this close to you and not… not feeling like I have to keep my hands to myself.” Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the space in front of her. “For so long, I thought if I ever touched you, you’d flinch.”

Viktor looked up at her then, his gaze steady but playful. “If you don’t believe it, you should verify. For science.”

Renly laughed. “Is that your way of saying you’re the test subject?”

He spread his hands in a mock-solemn gesture. “If it will satisfy your hypothesis.”

“But what about the work environment safety, Viktor? Are you leading me astray just to rub it into my face one day?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“As I said, it would be for science, therefore part of our work,” Viktor smirked, though even he couldn’t quite believe his own words. At work? Never. Yet now, it was the only thing on his mind. “When it comes to rubbing things in your face… well, no promises,” he added innocently, causing Renly to clasp her hand to her face, though she couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Fine,” she said with exaggerated determination, crossing the room toward him. “But I’m a very thorough researcher.”

Stopping in front of his stool, she leaned down and poked a finger to his forehead, her expression one of mock-serious examination. “Hmm, no reaction. Subject appears… suspiciously non-hostile.”

Viktor chuckled, tipping his head back slightly to look up at her. “So far.”

Her finger moved to prod at his cheek, then his shoulder, her expression growing more dramatic with each exaggerated poke. “Subject’s outer shell is remarkably non-defensive. No sharp edges or biting. Fascinating.”

“Renly…” Viktor’s voice held a warning tone now, though his smile betrayed him.

But she was undeterred. She crouched a little, eyeing his torso, her finger hovering near his ribs. “And here, we test the reflexes—”

“Don’t you dare,” Viktor said sharply, though he was laughing now.

Renly smirked but straightened up, her expression softening as she brushed her hand lightly across his jaw. This time, she didn’t poke—she let her fingers trail gently, tracing the line of his cheekbone. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Subject seems to be… content at the contact.”

Viktor’s laughter faded, replaced with something softer in his gaze. He reached up and caught her wrist gently, tugging her a little closer. “Perhaps the subject is more than content.”

Before she could reply, he pulled her fully toward him, and she let herself be guided, sliding into his lap with ease. Viktor’s hands steadied her at her hips, and her arms found their way around his neck as their lips met in a kiss—tentative at first, then deepening.

Renly straddled his lap, leaning into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss grew hungrier, the soft hum of her earlier tune replaced by soft breaths and the faint scrape of his chair against the floor as they shifted closer. Viktor’s grip on her waist tightened, he tried to pull her in just a little bit more, the friction between their bodies making him swell up. He didn’t know what came over him in that moment. The words weren’t planned, nor had he ever imagined saying them like this. But before he could stop himself, they slipped out, muffled against her lips in a breathless whisper.

“I love you.” It was quiet but landed like a thunderclap.

Renly froze, her hands stilling against his chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and she pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him.

Viktor’s face was flushed, his breathing uneven. He didn’t flinch under her gaze but watched her carefully, as though bracing for her response. “I—” he started, seeing that no such thing was coming. “I am aware this is quick,” his voice now measured, though still quiet. “But I think I’ve had this in me for a while now. I was just looking for the right words, as ‘love’ doesn’t describe how you make me feel.”

Bravery slowly fled his body, and his gaze dropped down to her collarbones. He felt his chest tightening, slight pain lingering within it.

“It doesn’t?”

“No…” Viktor placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing the skin of her neck and collarbone. “I admire you. I respect you. I adore you,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her jaw. “I think… you’ve nestled in my heart a long time ago. I just—”

“Viktor, I—”

“Wait.” He stopped her, his voice calm but earnest. “You don’t have to say anything. I wanted you to know this, and I wanted to find the courage to be the first one to say it, since you did the heavy lifting.” A soft, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I am… happy.”

Renly exhaled softly, her fingers brushing against his collar as she leaned her forehead against his. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in.

“I don’t think I can compete with that, you know,” she murmured, her voice wavering slightly with a nervous laugh. “I may not have the words yet,” she whispered, her voice steady now, “but I think you’ve nestled in my heart too, whether you wanted it or not.”

“Oh, it took me some time, but I definitely wanted to,” his tone now lighter, as he began to kiss her slowly, his hands pushing her toward him. “And now, I would gladly nestle myself somewhere else, by your approval,” Viktor whispered in a sultry tone, biting her lower lip.

Renly laughed into his mouth, completely disarmed. “Viktor, I don’t care if I win this one. I want you so much right now that if you don’t do something soon, I might—”

“Implode?” Viktor offered, his lips twitching into a smirk as he licked her earlobe and left a tiny bite on it. She let out a muffled whimper, managing to throw out, “Yes, and there will be no one to—ah!” Her words dissolved into a gasp as Viktor pressed his groin between her legs. “Put the blame on me when the enforcers come,” Renly managed to finish her sentence with a breathy strain, her body already melting into Viktor’s arms, her resolve as pliable as the warmth radiating between them.

“Hmm, that would be just awful,” he teased mercilessly, his voice rich with amusement. “I don’t think I could allow it—my favourite thing taken away from me so quickly,” Viktor whispered into her ear, his words laced with a low growl. “Let’s get you fucked in no time.”

Renly giggled, though her ears went completely crimson red at the sultry register of Viktor’s voice. He deftly fumbled with her buttons while leaving a slick trace of kisses on her neck, but her own fingers trembled when she was peeling layers of clothing open. Each brush of his fingertips on her skin made a prickle of goosebumps rise and fall, as if his touch was bringing her back to life.

Once she was left with nothing but a bra, she slid off his lap and got rid of her underwear, leaving ,the skirt on. She scrambled back up onto him, his own shirt and vest left hanging loosely around his frame, buttons undone.

Viktor adjusted the backrest of his chair, so he could lean back comfortably and slide Renly’s hips on top of his, as he pulled her breasts out of the bra and gave each a gentle squeeze. He brushed his thumb over a faint fingertip shaped bruise on the side of one of them—a reminder of their last night’s activities. “You wear my marks with such grace,” he whispered, ghosting his lips over it.

Renly shuddered at the warmth of his mouth, her head falling back, her pelvis digging deeper into Viktor’s groin, making him release a low groan. “Do I have to hold you down in place, my love?” He smirked against her breast and bit on it carefully, while digging his fingers into her hips to still her movement. She gasped and shot him a look of playful disapproval.

“Undo my belt,” he commanded, placing his hands on the sides of her neck, keeping their eyes locked. Her hands slid down his torso to unbuckle him, but she had to steal a glance to make her work of his fly buttons. “Ah! And look at me,” he pulled her face back up to his.

She pressed her forehead to his and let out a long exhale, as if bracing herself. Having her focus recollected, she slowly undid his fly, button after button, his cock already pressing itself out. Her hand palmed his length through the soft fabric of his underwear, and Viktor let out a long hum of approval at the warmth of her touch.

Renly slid her hand under the material shyly, observing his reaction. A smile bloomed on his lips and a quiet praise fell from his mouth, “Just like that.” She sprung him free and let his cock rest idly against her slit, as she moved her hips slowly back and forth, grinding on his length, covering him with her slick.

Viktor’s lips collided with hers, as he kissed her with a deep hunger that crawled itself up his body, digging its claws into his lungs, his ribcage, his heart. “Do you want me to—“, he breathed into her mouth, his words failing him, melting into another kiss.

“No, I want you now,” Renly felt her insides squeezing tight, Viktor’s proximity driving her into a lustful haze she didn’t know she had in her. Time was of the essence, and although she deeply believed in Jayce’s decency—that he would back out quietly if he caught them—she didn’t want to risk even the slightest possibility that they might have to stop.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong.” Viktor’s own voice was straining, as he teased her entrance with his head. He slid in carefully, his cock twitching at how warm and wet she was. Once he was fully buried inside her, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“It feels… the opposite of wrong,” Renly whispered against his lips, her mouth dry and her brain slowly giving up on formulating proper thoughts. Viktor slid his hands down her sides, one travelled where their bodies met, as his fingers parted her, the other tilted her hips forth, so she could grind her clit on his pubic bone while riding him.

“You drive,” he smiled playfully, seeing the spark in her eyes as soon as she felt his skin rubbing against her. She gave her hips an experimental roll and Viktor groaned loudly, making her chuckle. His hand shot to cradle the back of her neck, as she steadied herself on his shoulders and searched for her rhythm.

Soon the sensation of being full of his cock, her core grinding on his, built itself up and Renly felt the pressure bubbling in her lower belly as she quickened the pace, her movement falling out of grace.

“Viktor, I’m so close,” she breathed against his lips, and he took the cue, moving to suck on her neck, his hands kneading her breasts. It was all it took for her to fall over the edge, as she came undone pressing his face to the crook of her neck, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her walls clenching desperately around him.

As her rhythm stuttered, Viktor kept rolling his hips underneath her, a playful smirk ghosting on his lips when he whispered, “I didn’t tell you to stop.” He grabbed her chin in one of his hands and placed a loud kiss on her lips. “Are you alright?” His gentle whisper enveloped her as she nodded, her expression serious.

Even though he was close, Viktor’s pace was steady, almost lazy, as he thrusted into her with a quiet force. He was savouring the buildup, cherishing the feeling of her walls closing on him, enveloping him with warmth. “Fuck, I love you,” he rasped into her mouth, spilling himself inside her, before he kissed her.

Outside of gentle twitches and shuddering breaths, neither of them moved for a while. Renly rested her head in the crook of his neck, while Viktor leaned back, cradling her close to his chest, his fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on her back.

“How are you?” Viktor asked softly, cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with it,” Renly whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as a rush of tears swelled beneath her eyelids.

“I think I might know the feeling.” Viktor wrapped his arms tightly around her and nuzzled his face into her hair. “Take as long as you need,” he murmured, exhaling slowly as if trying to ground her in the moment.

Renly tilted her head slightly, resting her chin on his shoulder as she whispered, “And you? How are you feeling?” Her fingers lightly grazed the back of his neck, a comforting, grounding gesture.

Viktor closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft hum of contentment. “Tired,” he admitted, his voice low but tinged with a warmth that made the word feel almost reverent. “But blissfully so.”

Renly smiled against his skin, her arms tightening around him. “Good,” she murmured, shifting slightly to press her cheek to his. “I want you to feel safe with me, Viktor. Like I feel with you. That’s all I want.”

His breath hitched at her words, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his expression before he softened again. “You make me feel more than safe,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel… whole. As though the pieces I thought lost were never truly gone.” He felt her arms tighten around him in response.

When they finally untangled from each other, Renly’s knees almost gave out. They helped each other get dressed, though not doing a very good job of it, snorting and giggling as they went. Viktor insisted on getting at least a little bit of work done, but her resolve was completely gone, and she decided to head home at a humane hour for once.

Renly stood by the door, her coat slung over her arm as she cast Viktor a lingering look, her cheeks still red from what had just transpired. We sure did keep it professional.

“You sure you don’t want to head out too?” she asked softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Viktor shook his head, still seated at his workstation. “I’ll finish a few things here. Just… make it home safely, hmm?”

Renly stepped closer, her hand brushing his shoulder. “You work too hard,” she murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight, Renly.” His voice was warm, but his eyes remained fixed on the table in front of him as she finally slipped out of the lab, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The silence felt heavier now. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the Hexcore, where it pulsed faintly in its casing, its glow casting shadows across the room. His fingers tapped idly against the desk, the work in front of him forgotten as his mind wandered.

He exhaled slowly, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the tension of the day. A sudden light-headedness crept over him, and he braced himself against the edge of the table, his other hand clutching at his chest.

The cough came suddenly, a sharp bark that echoed in the quiet of the lab. It wasn’t as violent as the fits he’d suffered before, but it was enough to make him pause, a deep unease settling in his stomach. He fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket, bringing it to his lips as another cough wracked his body. A few drops spattered onto the table.

When the fit subsided, Viktor sank back into his chair, his breathing uneven. His fingers tightened around the handkerchief as he glanced at the Hexcore again, its faint hum seeming louder now in the stillness.

“Why now?” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. The words hung in the air, unanswered.

The Hexcore pulsed faintly in the dim light, almost as if it were mocking him. Viktor frowned, his mind tugged between the promise of his work and the unsettling fragility of his own body. He shook his head, trying to clear the wooziness that clung to him. With one last glance at the Hexcore, he forced himself to focus back on the scattered notes on his desk, determined to shake off the unease creeping at the edges of his thoughts. He would tell her. Just… later.

[quartz-kilsviken]

Written in the Runes

Chapter 4

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸Pairing: Jayvikxreader

➸Chapter word count: 2,009

➸Tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not

canon compliant

➸Notes: One more short chapter for today, because I had the day off and needed to continue getting my thoughts out. ∧( ‘Θ’ )∧ Oh, Heimerdinger, how I love your whimsy.

➸ Previous Chapter: Pt.3

The sunrise tells you it’s been hours since the three of you were told to stay in Heimerdinger’s lab. The noise of students starting their day in the courtyard is a small comfort, familiar in its chaos. Has Benzo noticed you’re missing yet? The thought tightens your chest. You used to slip away all the time, always returning just in time for one of his lectures. Back then, you thought his anger was just routine, but now you understand it was more than that. After your mother’s death, you didn’t believe anyone could be bothered by your absence. In the Undercity, that kind of concern is rare, and it took a long time to see how much it hurt him when you disappeared. The idea of causing him more trouble, of making Ekko worry too, weighs on you.

You can’t leave, though. The councilors made sure of that.

A loud snore breaks your thoughts. You glance over at Jayce, slumped against the wall, his face relaxed in deep sleep. Despite being in an unfamiliar place with two strangers, he’s completely at ease, his breathing steady and untroubled.

Viktor, who had paused his writing, watches Jayce with a faint smile. But when his eyes meet yours, something shifts. “He’s had an—” Viktor hesitates, then finishes, “…eventful few days.” His words are light, but there’s a quiet weight to them, a flicker of sadness that fades before you can fully place it.

You hum in response, imagining what happened between his visit to Benzo’s and your arrival the next night. You had seen the pieces of his devastation—the frustration in his research being taken from him. It’s a loss you understand too well. Your own connection to magic was ripped away, taken from you in ways that still sting, an emptiness that lingers. But you hope that, like you, the events of last night will help fill that void for both of you.

The click of the door snaps you from your thoughts as Counselor Medarda steps into the room. You quickly move to wake Jayce, his face still soft with sleep. She watches with quiet amusement as he jolts awake, clearly embarrassed, and straightens to attention clasping his hands behind his back. Viktor stays seated, unshaken, waiting for her to speak.

Her presence fills the room, calm and commanding despite the small group. “The three of you will present before the council today, in one hour.”

Her words hang in the air, and a tight knot forms in your stomach. Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, sharp with concern. “That’s not nearly enough time. What do you expect us to present, Counselor?”

Medarda’s gaze is unflinching as she smooths out the tension. “It will be an informal presentation—no need for preparation. Simply share your recent developments, and we’ll discuss further research. It will also be an opportunity for you,” she fixes her eyes on Jayce, “Mr. Talis, to have the incident involving your explosion retracted.”

Jayce exhales deeply, visibly relaxing, but you exchange a worried glance with Viktor. Neither of you feels ready to stand before the council—especially under these rushed conditions. Medarda adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll handle most of it. You’re expected outside the council chamber by 10 AM.”

You exhale a quiet sigh of relief as the door begins to close behind her, but the moment is shattered when Counselor Heimerdinger enters in a whirlwind. Before anyone can speak, he hurries straight up to you with a gleam in his eye. “Come with me, dear,” he says, his voice light and almost musical. “No time to dawdle!”

You hesitate, frozen in place. He stops, turns back, and gives you a knowing look as if he can read your discomfort. “You’re not in trouble, my dear, not in the slightest,” he adds, as though that should make everything better. But you wait for an explanation, and of course, there isn’t one. He simply smiles, waits, and then motions for you to follow.

Reluctantly, you move. To your surprise, Viktor and Jayce both follow. Heimerdinger notices and his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Ah, no need for a crowd!” he says, waving his tiny hands dismissively. “Only her. Don’t worry, boys. She’ll be back in no time!”

Viktor quickly moves to hand one of Jayce’s notebooks to him. “Professor—” he starts, his voice tight with concern.

With a dramatic flourish, Heimerdinger grabs the notebook and nods at Viktor before hustling down the hall. You follow, a little dazed. Students pass by, their eyes lingering, but Heimerdinger moves with such speed you barely register their gaze.

He leads you into a smaller office—thankfully empty—and you immediately notice how much more intimate this space feels compared to the Lab. He takes a seat behind the desk, dropping the open notebook in front of him with a dramatic flair. That’s when you realize, with a sinking feeling, it’s the same notebook you’d written in.

Heimerdinger flips through the pages, humming absently, unaware of the dread rising in your chest. “Where, pray tell, did you learn to transcribe Runes?” he asks, his tone light and casual, as if discussing the weather.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. You give the answer you’ve been giving everyone else: “I just have an interest in it.”

Heimerdinger pauses, peering over the top of the notebook with a raised brow. “Ah, interest—yes, of course,” he muses, clearly unconvinced. “But I do wonder—what else do you have an interest in? Sciences? Mathematics? History? Language?” He leaps from his chair with a sudden burst of energy, gesturing widely, as though he's narrating some grand spectacle. “Tell me, what do you excel in, hmm?”

The questions whirl around you, and you struggle to make sense of them. “I… I suppose I’m average?” you offer, unsure.

Heimerdinger’s eyes widen with exaggerated interest. “Average!” he exclaims, his hands flinging into the air. “Now that’s a word that means a thousand things, doesn’t it? What does it mean for you?”

You hesitate, trying to gather your thoughts. “I have a basic understanding, I wouldn’t say I ‘excel’ at any” you say, the words coming out slower. “But… History and Language have always been my strengths.”

Heimerdinger nods, clearly delighted by your answer before disappearing into a small closet. “Aha! History and Language! Excellent! But tell me, my dear, do you prefer trousers or a skirt?” His voice rings out from the closet, muffled by the door.

Your head snaps up, confused. What? Before you can process, Heimerdinger reappears from the closet with an enormous grin on his face. “Well, come now! What’s it going to be?”

“Uh—skirt?” you stammer, unsure where this is going.

Heimerdinger nods in delight, his voice suddenly taking on a dramatic tone. “Perfect! Perfect!” He strides over to the desk and places a stack of clothes in front of you, then skips over to a safe, unlocking it with exaggerated care before pulling out a gleaming key. “Now, you must be ready. The new semester begins soon. And you, my dear, will begin your studies in just a few weeks. The council will want you to start working on Hextech right away, no doubt. So!” He claps his hands together, startling you. “You’ll have early access to housing.”

“Housing?” you repeat, your voice strained with confusion.

He simply waves off your concern. “Oh, don’t worry! The room number is on the key. I’m sure the boys will show you the way once the council meeting completes.”

The confusion only deepens. “No, sir, I haven’t applied to the academy,” you say, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He stops, blinking up at you. “Ah, well, last night was quite a remarkable application, wasn’t it?” His eyes gleam with mischievous delight.

Your heart sinks, and the ground beneath you feels like it’s giving way. You never wanted any of this. The academy? You’ve always known it would be safer with Benzo in the shop, keeping things predictable. But now—now everything is changing, and you feel like the universe is forcing it upon you. No longer a soft whisper leading you, but rather a hard shove. “I can’t afford tuition,” you stammer. “Even if I keep working while researching Hextech…”

Heimerdinger stops, considering you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he closes the notebook and pushes it toward you gently. “No need to worry about that,” he says, his voice far kinder now. “Counselor Medarda has offered to sponsor your tuition. It’s clear you have a brilliant mind, one that deserves to be nurtured.”

Your chest tightens. You can’t believe what he’s saying. The world feels like it’s tilting, and the weight of everything presses on your shoulders.

Heimerdinger’s voice cuts through the spiraling thoughts, calm and reassuring. “The choice is yours, but I urge you to think about what you could become.”

The words hang in the air like an invitation, and despite the panic rising within you, you find yourself nodding. “Yeah,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Yeah, sure. I’ll do it.”

Heimerdinger’s grin is back, wide and beaming. “Brilliant!” he says, practically bouncing with excitement. He scoops up the clothes, key, and notebook, shoving them into your hands with practiced flair before hurrying out the door.

You walk back toward the lab, the weight of your decision heavy on your chest. Heimerdinger suddenly stops in front of you, causing you to nearly run into him. He gestures toward a door. “Restroom’s here,” he says breezily “I suggest you change before meeting the council.”

Before you can respond, he twirls around you with a flurry of motion. “Not that your outfit isn’t lovely, mind you, but the uniform might be a tad more fitting for the occasion!”

With that, he dashes off, leaving you standing in stunned silence as students pass by, their gazes lingering.

Back in the lab, Jayce paces nervously. “Maybe we should check on her—”

Viktor leans back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Heimerdinger won’t do anything rash, Jayce. You shouldn’t worry.”

Jayce stops mid-step, his brows furrowing. “You worked for him, so you’re biased. I almost got banished by him.”

Viktor’s lips twitch, his own worry creeping into his expression.

Jayce continues, “We’re the ones who convinced her to come here anyways, so doesn’t that mean we’re like— responsible for her?”

Viktor grimaces. “Eh— maybe we should find them, just to be safe.”

But before they can leave, you barge in the door with a huff. “I thought the Undercity was a maze, but this place was designed by a drunken architect.”

After changing into the uniform and throwing your cloak over it in an attempt to hide the blinding color, you stepped out of the restroom—only to realize the professor had really left you to figure your own way back to the lab.

“Jayce, Can I borrow your bag again?”

Without waiting for a response, you start shoving your clothes into it. The action paused as the silence in the room makes you glance over your shoulder.

It looks like the two of them are deep in a silent argument. Jayce finally breaks away and steps in front of you, clearing his throat before speaking. “So, uh, you’re wearing a uniform now?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called a cloak, Jayce,” Viktor says, his voice laced with a knowing tone.

Jayce turns back to him, seemingly picking up where their silent exchange left off, but his tone is more curious than annoyed. “Oh, is it? Then what would you call the clothes under the cloak?”

Viktor’s lips curl at one side, moving to gather items for the presentation. “Perhaps an attempt at blending in for the council?” He pauses, eyes glancing toward you, waiting for a response.

“It’s not blending in if I’m already, uh, in,” you reply, unsure of how they’ll react. You hope they won’t be too shocked—after everything that’s happened today, you can’t take any more surprises.

They both share a final, quick glance. Jayce smiles softly. “Well, alright then.” Viktor gives a subtle nod, clearly pleased.

[justv0id]

DP+HEADCANONS

I was browsing through some posts when I found this picrew and thought "Hey, I really like Vall's DC headcanons (or at least Batfamily's), so why don't I make a Danny Phantom headcanons post to match?"

So here we are.

To begin with, let's establish the Everlasting Trio because there's no way, very iconic and wonderful together, and a pinch of Ghost King/Prince Danny.

With this, I like to think that, cuz they're always so close to Danny, before and after the right to the throne, Sam and Tucker, being exposed to the strooong ectoplasm he emits, would become even more liminal than the others Amity Parkers, this with the help of Tucker being the reincarnation of Duulaman and Sam being the heir to Undergrowth (I feel disgusted every time I remember what he did to her in the episode, cuz, personal trauma, so I refuse to accept this canon and that's why in my head he was actually pampering her the whole time to be able to convince her to be his daughter).

Because of this liminality and Danny's strong ectoplasm, they would develop powers and/or the powers they kind of already have of their own would become stronger.

I like to think that with this their appearance would change a little, Danny by the power of Ghost King/Prince and Sam and Tucker by liminality, just some subtle changes but they are noticeable, like for example, pointy ears! (I love the "Danny the elf" thing and yes, I'm going to drag Sam and Tucker into this, nothing will stop me! Except Vall definitely maybe- BUT- but, he likes it too so it's okay).

So, like, I don't think it will change much whether the DP and DC universes are the same or not in your view, but they could be considered metas or aliens or magical creatures(?) to someone outside, it depends a lot on their aura I think.

And you know, as much as I may love the concept of Jack and Maddie "giving up" on their obsession for their son, their beloved child and becoming/triyng to be better parents, I'm kind of corrupted already, you know?

The bad reveal is a classic in this fandom already and sometimes I even find myself like " 🤡🤨😒" when I go to read a fic and it has the tag "Good Reveal" or "Good Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton" which is honestly kinda VERY CONCERNING if you think about it-

But anyway, if there is revelation, it's bad, very bad, vivissection and all.

Also as much as I like a redeemed Vlad, I also like to see him have all the shit he put Danny through come back to him. You know, IT IS CALLED KARMA, YOU BITCH!

Ahem ahem, pardon :)

But for Dan case, oh my boy, I want him to have redemption, I want him to cling to this little drop of a person that is Dani and to do therapy with Jazz. Besides the sparrings with Danny, obviously.

Coming back now, where am I going with this? Bad Revelation, Revenge on Vlad and Dan redeemed? Of course it's the crossover part!

Anyway, then, a mentally exhausted Danny from school fights Vlad, but thanks to the new strength that comes with the right to the ghost throne and Sam and Tucker's new powers (Which I think everyone agrees that for Sam it's like Poison Ivy-style power but to a greater degree not only affecting plants but animals as well, and for Tucker being powers based on those Pharaoh and mummies stuff and such and the classic technokinesis!) he FINALLY manages to trap Vlad in the Thermos, Tucker quickly seals this blessed Thermo in the base of welding and then Danny throws it in Walker's prison.

And then, now tired mentally and physically, he goes home, but oops! he didn't pay attention because of tiredness and got caught in the middle of transformation! And then the basic chase before he is captured and imprisoned in the lab.

But gosh, just his torture (which lasts a long time because Jazz is out busy with... eh, I don't know, and Sam and Tucker are worried and looking, but they are a little far away) wasn't enough, they caught Dani, and he started to despair, because there's no way he's going to let dad and mom Jack and Maddie touch his daughter little sister, but he can't move, can't do anything, and then they catch Dan, and Danny still can't do anything to help them, trying to draw attention to himself doesn't work (Hehe classic angst my dears).

Dani and Dan are so badly hurt by the Fenton doctors that they retreat into the cores, but since the cores are practically indestructible, and the Fentons have never even come close to studying one, their weapons don't work and don't hurt them. So the attendant is back with Danny.

But then Jazz, Tucker and Sam break into the lab to rescue the three Dannies, barely getting out while Jazz stays to slow them down. Some time ago, they managed to close the portal that was in the Fentons' basement and prevent it from working again, so Sam and Tucker have to race with the Dannies to Vlad's portal (I don't remember exactly what happened when he became president of Amity Park, but I'm going to say that he moved the portal to the city with him for pure plot convenience) but when they are about to go through, the doctors arrive, and then there is a small conflict until Jazz manages to push the trio into the portal and destroys it, but in an inadequate way, thus also destroying their home dimension (Yey more angst)

Sam and Tucker then go to CW to seek help. He cures Danny, or at least about 60% because he says he needs to cure the rest himself for his own good, and that unfortunately Dani and Dan won't be able to leave their cores anytime soon if they aren't incubated. So, stop! Danny is pregnant and then CW puts them in the DC universe, it can be in Gotham or anywhere else they want, it doesn't matter, the only thing that matters is that now they will live there together.

And that's where that Picrew I mentioned comes in, since I made the appearances of the Everlasting Trio+Twins Dani and Dan+Surprise for an AU like this.

For me, they arrived in Gotham right around the time Bruce was starting to come out as Batman or when Jason was Robin, I can't decide. But anyway, the fact is, they are in a new universe with Danny at his literal 60% carrying two cores with him, so when they discover more about this world a little with their powers, they decide to be discreet, and even with that, they also let themselves be registered as metahumans to avoid problems if they use their powers, but of course in the records the written powers are much simpler and weaker than the real thing.

Anyway, I think they would all work at WE but in different sectors (obviously), or have independent or simple businesses or something like that.

Now let's move on to appearances!

first of all, Daniel James Shade "Danny" Fenton Nightgale

Here as you can see, Danny has a lighter eye because of the incident, if there was an option for a lightning scar in the picrew I would also put it, this lighter eye of his only has about 75% of the vision.

You have to wear a single lens in that eye, he may not wear it, but it is inconvenient most of the time.

His hair is longer, and yes, I gave him the anime dead mom hairstyle, sue me. His hair used to be black, but over time, because of his great power, and the fact that his ghostly side is bleeding into his human form, his hair has turned about 70 to 80% white. Sam and Tucker like it, Sam says it's cool and Tucker says he remembers some anime character but can't remember who (😉)

The necklace and earring are a set he has with Sam and Tucker.

Piercing just because.

Makeup done by Sam, but is learning.

He also renounces his birth middle and surname, changing them as soon as he could. He only doesn't change his name because he got used to it (of course he did) and cause he learned from Jazz that she was the one who suggested his name.

Nightgale is a name that the Trio invented together and use, so as not to get too big with the three two surnames together.

He is called "Mama" by the children. And "D" and "Darling" by Sam and Tucker.

He/them

Samantha Ingrid "Sam" Nightgale

As I said, necklace and earrings are a set.

Piercing just because.

She dyed her hair completely purple, but after a while the liminal side of her powers also bled into her form, so now there's green in it, Danny likes it and says it's pretty, Tucker likes it too, but he also calls her eggplantie cuz of it tho-

And as always, she is gothic, and now, she does makeup for others with the help of [surprise, wait a little longer]

She is called "Mom" by the children. And "Sammy" and "Honey" by Tucker and Danny.

She/her

Tucker Rick "Tuk" Nightgale

Braided and colored hair, Sam did the braids and Danny helped pick the color.

Piercing just because.

Again, the necklace and the earrings are a set.

I made up the middle name because I couldn't find it anywhere.

Now he wears lenses more regularly than glasses.

Makeup done with Sam's help, he knows how to do it himself but normally when he makes lines like that he can't replicate them, but Sam can.

He is called "Dad" by the children. And "Tuk" and "Babe" by Sam and Danny.

He/him

Dante Ruth "Dan" Nightgale

Because he was incubated by Danny, he was born with white hair.

He has no memories of before, but he vaguely has some deja vus, his personality remains practically 98% the same.

He is quite influenced by Sam, that's why he dyed his hair her colors.

Piercing just because.

He still has a clear eye with 75% vision because it is a mark on his and Danny's core from the incident.

He helps Sam with the makeup with [surprise, wait just a little longer]

Glasses because you don't really like the idea of using a single lens on your eye, so you prefer glasses with two lenses of different degrees, it's more comfortable.

He is called "Dan", "Dandan" and "Dear". And also "Big brother" and "Bro".

He/him

Eleanor Dawn "Ellie" Nightgale

No problem with the eye because was born a halfa even though she was a clone cuz she didn't had to die and revive to, so there is no mark on the core.

Born with white hair because she was incubated by Danny.

Like Dan, he has no exact memories of the past, just deja vus, and his personality has remained largely intact.

He is more influenced by Tucker, so he dyed his hair his color.

Piercing just because.

They wears sunglasses almost all the time, even at night, because 1) she likes them, 2) he feels cool, 3) they wanna have something in common with Dante.

Makeup done by Dan.

When it's "she" she goes by the nickname "Ellie", when it's "he or they" he goes by the nicknames "Dawn" and "Noir", Dawn more commonly, but Noir is when he's with Dan, so as not to confuse the two. But she is also nicknamed "Little sister", "Big sister" and "Sis". And "Muffin".

She/him/they

And finally....THE SURPRISE!

Jordan Ezra Mary "Ez" Nightgale

They was born from Sam, and just biologically speaking, the father is Tucker.

But

They are more influenced by Danny :)

Heterochromia because I want.

There's no way he could remember before since she didn't even exist, but she likes the stories of her dad, mom and mama's chaotic adolescence.

Piercing just because.

They dyed their hair pink because they really likes the color very much.

Glasses because they inherited the short-sighted from Tucker and doesn't like contact lenses very much.

Do the makeup with Sam and Dan to the others.

She is called "Ez" and "Ezzie", and also "Little Sister" and "Sis". And "Sweetheart".

They/her

And that's it! I chose for the Trio to arrive between Batman's first year and Robin's time! Jason so that the children would already be born when Damian's time as Robin arrived cuz of shenanigans. :D

Like, just imagine if Ezra becomes friends with Damian, to the point of knowing about his family's night business, or already knows. And then some typical problem happened with a being from another dimension and when Dami vents to them, Ez is like "Oh my daddy can help you!"

And instead of them bringing a sorcerer or warlock or wizard like everyone thought it would be, Ezra brings the FUCKING DAMN HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS.

@valletydarwin here, a gift, ya can name the AU 🖤💜

The picrew

[idliketobeatree]

@dont-offend-the-bees okay my darling first of all

AND SECOND OF ALL. i am gobsmacked by your commentary, thank you for taking the time to write these tags despite the cold sickly weather day!! you picked up on so many things i usually only hope people will find, and it feels like the biggest prize that you scored so many!!

(we both agree on charles in the middle supremacy <3)

and the way you described their individual voices!! excuse me! plucked them out of my brain but better! absolutely brills detail cought that you can technically read them as separate and they will make sense, but you feel there's something lacking all the same, waiting on the sidelines, and that only when they're together there is true harmony.

i hope you don't mind me turning this reblog for the director's cut for the poem!!

so here are my scattered thoughts:

starting out, i had to think about how each character would feel about their developed relationship. how it makes their life more rich? what would change about their self-perception? what can they take for themselves?

trying to breach the gap between magical and time-suspended in centuries cat king, and quite young in terms of their afterlife edwin and charles. especially charles.

charles in the middle, because this is an equilateral triangle, not a love corner around edwin; not payneland + ck, not catwin + charles. nothing wrong with those! just not the vibes i wanted

the most challenging part is not even the melding, but balancing between (what i imagine to be) their inner voice and actual poetic phrases. i don't want to feel restrained by their vocabulary, but sometimes finding the sweet middleground means you need to take down a notch of poetics for their voices to be still believable.

charles finding the strength within himself to heal-- with their combined power and support. he always includes himself in the picture. "six arms to form / all the goo inside of me" or "three dimensional beings": he recognises himself as part of the trio and he knows he doesn't have to do this alone

there's a wondrous, analysing part of edwin's brain that's somehow pleasantly surprised by this situation; he can't help but wonder what he'd be missing out on.

this poem is basically a playground. i've shown you four games these kids like to play, and they're bound by rules, but there are about ten more hidden mini-games in there. for example:

hurray! you can pick and pluck the lines from each individual poem to make new meanings! i underlined just four options.

charles' poem makes similar sense, but takes on different personal priorities if you read it from the bottom to the top

AND technically you CAN pair them up, the poems. edwin's and charles' work together well. so do charles' and tck's. it's vital for them to have a dialogue, the partnership wouldn't last otherwise.

edwin's and tck strong connection is implied, but they're on opposite sides for a reason. tck already feels a bit on cloud nine about the whole arrangement and i feel like. charles grounds him? keeps him from seeing god in edwin's eyes, you know?

THE STRUCTURE: a bit silly, but it does looks like charles is reaching out to both of them. i'm emotional about it.

AND ALSO. the closest they ever get during the line "the moment of crowning / clarity on where you stand, double-adored / a chance i never stood", because it's REALLY something that brings them together. you can't argue with that. ghostcat to me only works if all puzzle pieces fall into place, there is clear communication, there is love from all sides, the humbling and mortifying realisation that you can't be loved and protect yourself at the same time-- and in order to do that, you must get uncomfortably close.

i think that's it! thanks for reading to the end, and see you in the next poems <3

dead boy detectives contrapuntal poems — 4 — (1) (2) (3) for @dont-offend-the-bees, @dear-monday and @tw0-ravens <3

(click for better quality ✳️)

[theboardwalkbody]

This is a snippet of the Twister imagine (also the Reader-ish OFC / Dusty thing). It is very much written quickly and a literal play-by-play of how it was unfolding in my head in real-time. So not really structured as properly as a regular fic. Part of me WANTS to flesh it out properly for a fic but I also feel that if I try to it might just never happen where if I release it this way at least SOMETHING will get put out.

Anyway, this is how I introed it in my drafts:

I am in the mood for a fluffy, summery imagine so here's something (note - it's actually just me writing out the daydream I was having earlier) (note 2 - there is absolutely hints of 'reader' and dusty crushing on each other) (And here's another note - I ended up putting a read more cut due to length, I didn't realize this would be so long also it gets VERY Dusty/FReader under the cut all hints out the window really lol You know the 'only one bed' trope? yeah it's that, except there's only one shower oops - but there's nothing explicit sorry friends):

If you're interested I'd love feedback on if you'd prefer it to be released in ANY format (as in this style being ok or actual fleshed out story) OR if you're only really interested in a fully fleshed out / polished format. Again, I'll be honest, this might be the only thing I have motivation for (and it is still taking me some time) so IDK how a more "polished" thing would go BUT I am still interested in feedback. Or if you like where it's going or whatever. I'm considering switching from F!Reader to OFC if its more polished but that's not set in stone either. All of this is a lot of scenery so far. lol

INTRO TO FIC/IMAGINE/SOMETHING BELOW:

You're in the pool, at first sitting on the bench between Haynes and Laurence; she's reading a trashy gossip magazine (she would otherwise be on her phone doing the same thing but she's not one to bring valuable electronics around the pool even if they're water resistant), and he's got a book and nearby a waterproofed go-pro. Eventually you do decide to journey off the bench and begin simply walking a circle in the shallow-end. After about twenty minutes of what is basically your attempt at water-based exercise just for the heck of it you start feeling even warmer than when you'd first gotten in so you decide to actually submerge yourself up to your neck and explore the deep end; swimming back and forth between there and the shallow end. Every so often you sing softly along with the music but not loud enough for anyone to really hear.

Off the shallow-end on the deck Jo is getting in some sun on one of the lounge chairs. She's wearing brown-tinted sunglasses that, thanks to how dark they are, anyone could easily assume she was asleep but knowing Jo she's keenly aware of what everyone's doing. On the lounge chair next to her is Melissa (because I like to imagine they could all be adults and remain friends despite all the events they been through). Melissa, like you, is wearing oversized sunglasses. She has accented her swimsuit with a large sunhat. She has a novel in hand and her work cell on the table between her and Jo's chairs next to the pitcher of iced tea that is dripping with condensation. Melissa's glass is nearly empty where Jo's sits half full next to her almost empty bottle of Twisted Tea.

Over at the gazebo Bill, Joey, and Preacher sit, each with their own bottles of beer in hand. They're having a conversation but between the music and their distance from you, the sounds of the water as you swim through it, and the shouts from the rest of the gang the only bits of their discussions you can hear are their intermittent bursts of laughter. Scattered around the tables under the metal roof were bottles and cans of different beers and sodas belonging to the men otherwise unaccounted for by the pool and in the gazebo.

On the opposite side of the pool, the farther side of the yard, the open grassy area is being utilized by the rest of the group. The volleyball net had been taken down and gently placed along the fence to make room for a game of touch football. Dusty and Beltzer VS Rabbit and Sanders. This group was particularly raucous. Laughter, shouts of playful jabs, whoops of celebration, expletive exclamations of defeat and disagreement over calls. Occasionally one of them would call over to the gazebo group demanding a referee call - often answered by Joey who was paying slightly more attention to the amateur football game than his conversation buddies but occasionally answered by Bill if the debate was getting too heated.

At some point in your playlist the new Luke Combs song, Ain't No Love in Oklahoma, comes on which gets some of the group singing along, none more so than Dusty and Beltzer, however. The sound of them shouting along the words almost drowned out the actual audio from the speakers. It made you, Haynes, and Jo crack subtle little smiles. Jo because she enjoyed seeing her group having a good time, Hayne's because she enjoyed seeing Beltzer have a good time and found his singing enjoyable, and you because you enjoyed seeing Dusty having a good time and always thought it was cute when he would get so into things and just be fully and unapologetically himself; loud, fun, goofy, sweet - all of it.

[rin-sith]

This came to me earlier, and now I am utterly obsessed: While it was clear to me that Odysseus stabbing Poseidon wasn't any kind of Vengeance, there was one act of Vengeance after all, even if inadvertent—it was Odysseus disproving Poseidon's "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" belief right in front of his very eyes. With him as the subject, even.

Think about it—the fact that Poseidon remained ruthless and insisted on punishing Odysseus was the only reason he got stabbed repeatedly. If Poseidon had been merciful, if he had accepted Odysseus' offer of forgiveness, he would've been fine. His own ruthlessness backfired so hard on him this time that I am sincerely hoping it haunts him forever.

I am actually utterly obsessed with Poseidon thinking back to Odysseus "Maybe you could learn to forgive?" on a daily, no an hourly basis. I cannot and will not lie to you that is unironically my favorite moment in the whole Vengeance saga just because of what it says about both the characters—about Odysseus for offering and Poseidon for declining (and also because Odysseus sings it in Poseidon's own motif which is just absolutely brilliant.) And this makes me love it even more.

Poseidon was going to decline, we all know that. I don't think anyone watching—even Odysseus, probably—expected him to accept. But then I'm picturing him lying there, bleeding into the stone, and, against his will, wondering whether maybe he should have. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be in pain. Maybe if he had not killed Odysseus' fleet ten years ago, he wouldn't be in pain either. Maybe this one time ruthlessness wasn't mercy upon himself—maybe this time, his one grand belief was wrong. Maybe ... it was always wrong.

Obviously, he would never admit to these thoughts, he would slap himself for having them one second later. But I simply need this self-proclaimed god of ruthlessness to be utterly haunted by that and question whether he made the right choice or no—whether he's even lived by the correct philosophy all his immortal life—and no matter what, be too stubborn to admit he was wrong.

He's trying to pretend like nothing changed, but the thoughts still remain. They pester him. They won't leave him alone. Especially every time someone—anyone—is kind to him for whatever reason, they come crashing back into him and they won't leave.

"What if my own ruthlessness hurt me that time?"

"What if ruthlessness isn't mercy upon ourselves after all?"

"What if I'm wrong?"

"What if I have always been wrong?"

The most dreadful thoughts imaginable to a god as proud and stubborn and old as Poseidon, but they're there now and he can't do anything about them. You all don't understand how much I NEED this god to jolt up in his bed at 3 am after having a dream or nightmare about something related to one of his many ruthless deeds (maybe even sinking Odysseus' fleet) and go "BUT WHAT IF I HAD LEARNED TO FORGIVE?? WHAT IF I STILL COULD??" only to immediately slap himself for it because that's absolutely ridiculous.

He is left to watch this belief shatter before his very eyes as he's clinging to the remains of it desperately, trying to keep it all from crumbling. Not because he genuinely believes he's right anymore, but because he simply cannot imagine ... does not know how to live by any other philosophy.

No matter whether it's objectively correct or not, it's the very thing that defines him. The thing he's known for. He has built his entire image around this, he cannot give it up no matter what ... at least not quickly or without help.

But as much he would seek to deny it, his core belief has now been proven wrong; he has actually lived through an instance where it was wrong, and he can do nothing to erase those memories or conclusions from his mind no matter how much he yearns to go back to simpler times.

And that was the real Vengeance, guys—possibly the biggest, most painful existential crisis of Poseidon's immortal life. I rest my case.

Although before I disappear back into the void I simply must give a shout out to @o3o-lapd-o3o (this came to me during a conversation in one of their comment sections for the glorious Friends In Higher Places AU, which is quite possibly my favorite piece of EPIC fan content that exists ...)

[marvey-sideblog]

"And it just happened to be empty?" "Something like that."

Suits 4x8 "Exposure" Mike returns to Pearson Specter and gets Harvey's old office.

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[celestialrealms]

I just noticed Mephisto matches with Barbatos (who is matchy with Diavolo) in the anniversary outfits in his SSR memory card

These three were also the only three who had half masks in the masquerade event!!!

Anyway, The Royals with Mephisto chat group when? We got one for Purgatory Hall with Raphael..... it's just fair !!

And one for Mephisto and Diavolo as well, but also one for Mephisto and Barbatos too. because you can't tell me their relationship isn't deeper than the devs portray when Mephisto has lines like this about Barbatos's room:

[my-current-obsession]

every time i see bakudeku compared to k/ance (now specifically in terms of them getting shafted in the ending and/or accused of queerbaiting) i take psychic damage

[cum-a-calla]

.

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[se7ens-oc-heaven]

And now, time for some oc writing!! Specifically, a self-contained piece for my SwSh oc Rex. I think of this as a sort of brief, non-chronological "timeline" piece for him, showing out-of-context snapshots to sort of give a sense of his main drive in the Legendkeepers story. Hopefully you'll all enjoy, this is my first time doing a format like this but I hope it isn't too confusing!

Context: Rex is my oc who follows the Shield storyline, becoming a champion of Galar and exploring the story and events in the Crown Tundra afterwards. His best friend, Ritsu, is a "Faller" who went missing when they were children, and never came back. This follows Rex and how he handles this disappearance as he gets older.

•••

Rex was eleven years old when he first heard the news that his best friend was reported missing. He was worried, of course. He loved his friend dearly. But, in the way you do when you're eleven, he also felt a sureness of how the world worked in a way that didn't always turn out the way it by all rights should have. 

"Yeah, mum and dad have been losing their minds over it. You'd think the world was ending over here, never mind how Ritsu’s parents have been handling things," Rex said rather blithely to Hop, his neighbor and longtime friend. Ritsu's longtime friend. Hop, perched on the stone wall next to Rex, tilted his head at him, confused. 

"They said Ritsu's gone though, right? That sounds awful serious to me," he countered, concern lacing his expression. Hop, by this point, had gathered the nature of the situation well before Rex did. Rex shrugged, swinging his feet aimlessly, heels battering the old stone wall beneath him. 

"I dunno. I mean, it can't be that bad. His parents are always making a fuss if Ritsu misses so much as snack time, and you know he's aces at building super secret bases. He prolly just made a new one and didn't tell them," Rex explained, hopping off the wall with a muted 'oof'. 

"Hey, maybe next time we go visit, we should ask him if we can sleep over in it! I bet it's so cool no one would ever wanna leave, and that's why no one's seen him yet!" He added excitedly. Hop nodded, eyes brightening, the enthusiasm infectious. 

"Yeah, that'd be awesome!" 

•••

Rex was ten years old when his parents were ready to let him take on his first Pokemon. Rex had been eagerly waiting for the day. Bursting with excitement when they told him the good news. But he asked, as politely as he'd ever asked anything, that he wait a year before getting one. 

"Rex, dear, this is all you've ever talked about for so long! I don't mind, but why the change of heart?" His mother inquired, surprised. 

"I was thinking I want to wait until Ritsu can get his, so we can get ours together and they can be bestest buds just like we are!" Rex beamed. His parents exchanged fond, if somewhat anxious glances. 

"I don't have a problem with it," his dad chimed in. 

"But... Ritsu may not even want a pokemon. You know how he gets around them," he added carefully, watching his son for his response. Rex, unphased, shook his head. 

"It'll be fine! He'd feel loads better if he had one looking out for him, I know he would! And so'd his parents! I bet if they quit nagging him so much they'd all learn pokemon can be really cool too!" 

"Rex! That's no way to speak about them!" His mother scolded him with a huff. Rex merely gave a cheeky shrug. 

"It's true though!" 

•••

Rex was fifteen years old when he decided to take on the gym challenge. His parents protested his decision, but he didn't care. He was tired of them getting on his case all the time anymore. Always the same thing, nag nag nag. Ever since Ritsu had disappeared, both his mum and dad had gone insane about keeping track of Rex, holding him accountable at all times. Rex was fed up with it. 

"Ready to go, Miki?" He whispered to his Charmander, sitting on the bedroom sill next to him. Miki wagged her tail, the embers flickering in a mesmerizing fashion in the early dawn light. 

"Char!" She squeaked eagerly. Rex shushed her, brushing a fingertip down her nose gently as a tactile reminder. He grinned down at the charmander in her little red bow. 

"Alright. Let's go then, before we wake mum and dad," he murmured, gesturing with a free arm. Miki took the cue, hopping onto his shoulders, clinging for all she was worth. Rex took a final look down the wall, and - judging it clear - hauled himself down the side, keeping a solid hold on the windowsill now above him. He felt around for good footholds, inching his way down. Normally he'd have no qualms about just dropping right down into the bush below, full force. But he had to be quiet. 

Miki whimpered slightly as Rex slid a little, missing what he thought had been a good ledge. She clung tighter as he fumbled around, adjusting his handholds once he felt his legs were stable. Rex took another look down. Should be good enough, right? 

"Hold on, Miki," he whispered, and with a push he launched himself off the wall, landing on his feet below just in front of the bush. The momentum carried him into a kneel, and he rammed his knees down into the grass with a pained grunt. Oh, he'd be feeling that one later. But that was later, and this was now. And right now, he had to go meet with Hop. 

"Whew.... Alright," Rex muttered to himself, shaking off the lingering pain from his graceless landing. 

"Let's go!" 

It would be several hours before his parents discovered what happened. Rex would be long gone for Wedgehurst by then, and fresh off of what would be his first of many legendary encounters.  

•••

Rex was sixteen years old as he stared down death for the first real time. As he placed himself between Leon and Hop, the latter crying for the former to wake up, pull himself together, Death stared down at the scene before it with a blank apathy. Rex glowered up at the unfeeling hand just waiting to scoop them all up within its chilling grasp. He didn't care what it thought it was, it was out of line! 

The creature - Eternatus, presumably - thundered a hollow, alien cry, and Rex readied his pokeballs. It'd have to kill him and his team before it could get to Hop and Leon. 

•••

Rex was still sixteen years old as he tackled the chairman to the floor of the power plant. He'd never cared much for the man and his glib manner of speaking, but it had never been personal. Before now, that is. 

Now? He wanted nothing more dearly than to make the older man pay for what he did. For endangering his pokemon. For endangering Leon. For endangering Hop, and nearly putting him through another loss. For nearly putting Rex through another loss. 

Well. Rex almost wanted nothing more dearly than to make the older man pay.  

Rex was sixteen years old as the other adults hauled him off of the beaten and battered chairman, voices blending together into a thick stew of concern and shock, worry and admonishment. 

Rex was sixteen years old as he was escorted from the Hammerlocke gym, into a throng of cameras and microphones pushing and shoving greedily towards him, ready to feed. 

Rex was sixteen years old as articles scrutinizing him flew off the press and as news reporters used his name as they would that of a storm in the daily weather report. 

Rex was sixteen years old, a hero of Galar. A public figure.

Rex was sixteen years old when he became the Champion.

Rex was sixteen years old. 

•••

Rex was twelve years old, nearly thirteen, when he attended his best friend's funeral. He didn't understand why. Ritsu was still missing. Not dead. 

According to the adults, it was because there were no leads, no sign of Ritsu anywhere at any point, and so they had to assume the worst. Well, then the adults hadn't looked hard enough! That wasn't Ritsu's fault if they were bollocks at searches. They shouldn't have been giving up on him just for that. 

Rex stood amid a mass of black, holding his baby charmander close to his chest. That shouldn't be out, someone had scolded, put it back in its pokeball. 

No, Rex had said, standing firm. Miki has just as much right to be here as anyone. She wasn't hurting anything.

The adults continued to shoot him looks for the orange bundle in his black-clad arms. He let them. 

Miki had been there for him through all of this. She didn't deserve to be cooped up in some ball just because the others thought she was lesser. 

At least Hop understood. Over half of the times that Rex had looked up to see a disapproving glare sent his way, he also saw Hop giving them a hard stare of his own, inching himself in the middle of the line of sight. Rex would give an appreciative smile and Hop would hit him with a small grin of his own. 

"You don't have to handle this alone", it seemed to say. 

•••

Rex was sixteen years old as he stood next to his best friend Hop, in the midst of a panicked evacuation from the Darkest Day heralding the end of the world.

“Aaaagh, shit. How are we going to find Leon in this mess?” Hop bounced on the balls of his feet anxiously, trying to crane his neck to see past the people flooding out of the building. 

“Stay calm. If there’s one thing I’ve learned researching about Ritsu, it’s-”

“Oh, drop it about Ritsu for one damned second!” Hop swore. Rex faltered, startled. Around them, alarms blared and a cacophony of voices swarmed in all directions around them. 

Rex stared back at Hop, brows furrowed in a question he was too speechless to ask. Hop waved his arm in a sweeping motion towards everything. 

“Now’s not the time! Just look at this! We have to focus on the now, on saving my brother!”

Rex found himself protesting without fully meaning to.

“Well, yeah, obviously. I wasn’t saying otherwise. I was jus-”

“No, I know! But it’s not the same! It’s not! The same!” Hop interrupted, voice raising.

 “My bro’s still alive! Ritsu’s dead! He’s been dead, and I’ve let it go all this time that you keep blithering on about bringing him back or whatever, but now’s not the time!”

Rex fell still. Hop glared him down for a moment before it was clear no one was going to make a move otherwise. 

“Ugh, screw this! I’m going to go find Leon! Or the chairman. Or. Something!” Hop scoffed, whirling on his heel and running off into the amorphous cloud of people.

Rex hesitated. 

He had to go help too. 

His feet felt welded to the floor. 

Rex was sixteen years old as he stood, lost and alone in a crowd of people fleeing the end of the world. 

•••

Rex was sixteen, going on seventeen years old, as the wind blustered around him, stealing his heat from his bones. He paid it little mind, all attention trained on the pokemon before him, its absurdly large head bobbing around in front of him. Chief Peony likewise bobbed in the air, suspended with telekinesis Rex had wagered, expression almost peaceful as words were spoken through him. 

"I am Calyrex. I am the one known as the King of Bountiful Harvests. I have borrowed this man's body in order to thank you in person...so to speak."

The wind was surely stealing Peony's heat away. He hoped the chief could hold out a little longer. 

•••

“Hold out just a little bit longer, Ritsu.”

Rex was eleven years old, nearly twelve, as he muttered this into his palm. He sat sullenly in his room, staring out the window, grounded for the third time that month for trying to take a train - and then ultimately, a plane - to Hoenn all by himself. 

He was tired of waiting for the adults to get off their arses and find his friend! It was obvious he needed to take matters into his own hands! Not that his parents listened to a word he’d say. What would they know? 

Dejectedly, he flipped through the pages of a worn comic book issue with one hand, disinterested in the panels and words he’d read over a dozen times by now. Only one speech bubble happened to catch his eye by chance as the pages scattered past, a shout bubble belonging to a desperate hero.

“Hold out a little bit longer.”

It was a phrase used often enough, especially in his favorite comics. Seriously enough. Ritsu was fine, Rex knew he was. But it felt appropriate, somehow, to apply it to the situation. 

Hold out a little bit longer. 

Rex was eleven years old, nearly twelve, when a knock on the door distracted him from a troubling line of thinking. 

•••

“Hold on there, Rex,” Rex’s mum had laughed gaily, keying the number into the rotom phone. Rex, twelve years old, sat shoulder to shoulder with Hop, bouncing his knee in impatience as the egg before him glowed gently. 

“But dad’s going to miss it!” Rex whined. 

“He’ll still get to meet the baby pokemon that’s come out of it,” Leon reassured over the speaker. Rex had insisted everyone be present, even if it meant Hop called his brother while Rex’s mum tried - and failed - to reach his dad. 

“It’s supposed to be a charmander, right?” Hop asked his brother. 

“Could be.” 

Rex startled from his pout, and his head whipped to the phone in Hop’s lap. 

“You said it was an egg from your charizard, guaranteed!”

“I mean, who can really tell with eggs?” Leon laughed. Rex had just about wound up a retort when a telltale crack sound snapped in front of him. All eyes trained on the source. 

The egg was hatching. 

Everyone watched, spellbound, as the egg broke open in a blaze of light. A little orange lizard sprawled out from the broken shell, stretching with a tiny squeak of effort, before large aquamarine eyes turned up curiously towards Rex. 

“Hullo there,” Rex whispered, leaning closer to the tiny charmander. 

“Want to be my friend?”

•••

Rex was twenty five years old as he stood, uncertainly, in Eterna forest, an aged flute clutched in both hands. Beside him, Miki, his charizard and most faithful companion, leaned down to huff at the instrument. Rex chuckled, and stroked at her muzzle soothingly. 

“Yeah, I hear ya. ‘S now or never, huh?” 

At his other side, Calyrex nodded sagely. 

“It’s time, Rex,” they confirmed. Rex took a deep breath in. And out. Then, holding the time flute up to his lips, he began to play. 

The trio heard a noise akin to if glitter were a sound, and a delighted laugh chimed across the forest. Rex opened his eyes to see Celebi, hovering in front of him expectantly. 

“Calyrex?” Rex prompted, still nervous. Calyrex nodded. 

“Celebi is ready,” they affirmed. Rex nodded, a smile starting to spread across his lips as it sank in. 

He’d done it. 

He’d finally be bringing Ritsu home. 

Rex was twenty-five years old as he looked Celebi in the eye and said,

“Let’s do it, then. Take me back to Hisui.”

[deconstructivesurgery]

controversial post but i think i'm just too much of an actual adult to be into hlvrai shipping. none of them are kissing on the mouth. none of em.

especially not gordon and benrey. they are however the world's worst roommate. worsties, if you will. gordon gets a notification every time he looks at that uncanny shitass gamer and it says "newsflash: the worst person you know is hysterically funny sometimes" and the funny aspect is just endearing enough that it prevents him from going entirely looney tunes insane

likewise benrey looks at him through the lens of like "man my new friend I found at the end of the world alien event is fucking mean to me sometimes for no reason. this surely has nothing to do with me, benrey, because I am normal and excellent at making friends on PSN." but also he mutually just finds him fun enough that he's genuinely distraught when it turns out gordon actually fucking hates him and isn't picking up on any of his (incomprehensible) bullshit about not wanting to be an antagonist

literally tldr: why would you ever want to make their relationship into anything else when the "wow everyone else here is so strange (mildly lovingly and also with a fair amount of dread and frustration). glad I'm the only normal person here" dynamic is there and 10x funnier than any possible outcome in which neurotic gordon freeman makes out with low res security guard

and also there are literally 3 other deranged individuals ripe for you people's enjoyment. go get them.