#i did not think i had so many feelings about the fucking ''training & child abuse'' scene

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

⭐ chapter 2

Ahhhh, thank you! Chapter 2 happened so long (time & event wise) ago that this was actually a very good way to make me think about it on it's own instead of as the blob of "Yorick's time in King's Landing"

So this was the very first Yorick POV, & things were still a little rough, tbh. But it set up a good chunk of his important relationships outside of his immediate family of Lady Rhea & Ella, & really laid the foundations for what his relationship with Daemon would turn into, because up until he'd been separated from his mother & sister, Yorick been just as delusional as Ella was about their dad, but living with him turned out to be a whole different story & put Yorick in the "splash zone" for his dad's worst traits. The "Daemon Targaryen Blast Area" is particularly evident in the training scene kind of towards the beginning.

"I am sorry I am late, father. I was just talking to Alicent and-" "No excuses, Yorick." Uncrossing his arms, he strode over to the rack of blunted practice swords and took one, inspecting it and testing the weight. "Yes, father." He rushed the words out quickly before scrambling over to the table where his practice armor had been laid out. Yorick fumbled with the heavily padded breastplate before finally tightening the shoulder straps sufficiently to keep it secure. One of the practice swords was tossed Yorick’s way before he was ready, and he floundered trying to catch the thing before it landed in the dirt with a thud. He made a face and hurriedly picked it up, not daring to look at Prince Daemon before he had the weapon in his hands. And then drills. Hours and hours of practicing the basic techniques to wield a sword; instructions were barked like orders, and there were near constant demands to “do that one again.���

This part was where I found out "oh...it is actually weirdly easy & kinda fun to get up in this man's bizarre little head." He literally cannot make peace with his feelings about his kids with Rhea at this point, he's 23, so he just kind of...makes some executive decisions in the spur of the moment & just does not think ahead about them: my paternal feelings over my children is "ownership" & my being entitled to dad stuff, their mom being who she is means there's inherently something wrong with them that I need to fix because nothing that's mine will not be perfect (at least in my eyes), Yorick is too soft & I need to fix that, if Viserys wants to be a whole freak I'll let him because that let's me continue to fuck off/around.

Because yeah, Vizzy can't be normal about anything either. Chapter 2 starts with set up of Viserys projecting hard in terms of Yorick, because, like: here's this boy around Rhaenyra's age, who looks like Prince Baelon, who's smart & courteous & carries himself well, who's there right when you lose a son for the fourth time.

And, like I said, Daemon is 23: he just, kinda...lets his brother put his foot in his mouth & try to play "I have a son" with Yorick. And he thinks he's fine with it, but he is not fine with it. Literally neither of them [Yorick or Daemon] is fine with this, but neither of them is gonna say anything about it. So that's just another thing to drive a wedge into the whole dynamic, & it culminates in Frustrated Little Brother melding with Frustrated Perfectionist Dad melding with Frustrated Husband In Unwanted Marriage/A Nasty Separation making his issues with Viserys be Yorick's problem, & then not elaborating ever.

“You are not done yet, do it again!” Yorick’s right arm was yanked into place to make him hold the sword upright and towards the practice dummy once again. “But father-” “No excuses, Yorick. No son of mine is going to be anything less than perfect.” His father said something else after that, but it was under his breath and Yorick could not quite hear it over his heart pounding in his ears or his ragged breathing. “But-” “But, but, what? You think you don’t need any more training? Think you have everything all figured out, is that it?” As he spoke he put his hand atop Yorick’s head, pushing back to make him crane his neck up in order to look him in the face. There was the same kind of mean-spirited look in Prince Daemon’s amethyst eyes as when he had announced he would take Yorick as a squire, the same cruelly dismissive smirk that was almost always on his face. He stumbled back, taking a few steps to steady himself once his father released him and turned back towards the rack of training swords. The thick, dark brown streak running through the right side of Yorick’s hair had come fully loose now, dangling in his periphery as he watched Prince Daemon take one of the blunted swords from the rack. “You are such a smart boy after all, why shouldn’t you think you know everything you need to?” “Father I-” His attempted explanation to talk his father down from whatever “lesson” this was supposed to be was interrupted with a yelp.  With his reactions slowed from fatigue, his move to block the oncoming one-handed strike was sloppy and resulted in the training sword being roughly knocked from his hands. The loud clang of metal against metal echoed as the inertia spun him to face the side. Yorick winced, sucking air in harshly through his teeth as he shook his hands, the webbing between his thumbs burning from the strain of his grip having been forcibly loosened. Angry, red indents from holding so tightly to the hilt for so long were on his palms, and the joints of his fingers felt stiff.

He even takes, like, a distinct sore spot with Viserys's own words of calling Yorick "smart & a perfect well-behaved prince" because, like, "why can't my brother/dad/whatever other fucked up thing Viserys is to me say that about me? Why's he doing this with my son? Especially when I'm not done with him yet, he's still cooking." Just, fucky all around. And then they proceed to never talk about this. Together they just build the worst, rockiest foundation to live on (but like a chain gang instead of wilful collaboration), & then say "this is fine." Meanwhile Yorick is convincing himself that his dad hates him & his sister & everything he holds dear, & Daemon is convincing himself that "my son is okay with this, because he's an extension of myself!"

And just, ugh, this is a foundational scene.

[spicyhamsamson]

I am. So fucking tired of Batman being portrayed as a bad parent and a toxic person. And it’s so goddamn widespread. Fuck, it might be as bad as the whole “Superman being a kindhearted Boy Scout is boring” take.

I get it, the man’s not exactly stable, he watched his parents get murdered in front of him and spent years of his life training to fight crime dressed like a giant scary bat, of course he’s not perfect.

But to say that Bruce Wayne isn’t caring, isn’t empathetic, to call him abusive…it just misses the point of who the character is to me.

Why do you think he fights crime? Yes, part of it is because he’s bitter and sad because his parents were cruelly ripped from him as a child, and he’s lashing out against the corruption of his city. It’s arguably the focus of his earlier years. But he learns to become more than that. He learns to bring hope, a chance to be better.

Harleen Quinzel is the Joker’s right hand lady, but she’s also a victim of an abusive relationship and a woman with a surprisingly strong moral compass and a love for animals, and wants to get better. That’s why we see time and time again that he has a noticeable soft spot for her, because he knows that she’s a good person at her core.

Harvey Dent is a man who will decide someone’s fate on a coin toss(and a pretty inaccurate depiction of DID), but he’s also Bruce’s close friend who clearly needs help learning to live with his condition, rather than try to get rid of it, and someone who he still goes out of his way to visit, even after everything, because he recognizes he’s not just a criminal with a weird gimmick, he’s a man who is struggling with a condition that he’s mishandled his whole life.

Victor Fries is a cold, emotionless man who will callously discard allies and blame them for being careless, but he’s also a man who’s either lashing out because he had the love of his life taken from him, or just desperate to make sure she isn’t taken from him, and is willing to do anything just to guarantee her survival. Of course Batman would understand, his whole life was defined by having people he loved taken away from him.

Even the Joker, arguably one of the most morally bankrupt characters in all of fiction, is someone that Batman has offered a chance to. After the guy shoots the daughter of his friend, a girl he cared for like she was his own kid, and paralyzes her from the waist down, he tells the Joker that he doesn’t want to hurt him. He wants to get him help. He looks at this monster who has taken countless lives and says “You don’t have to be alone.”

For fuck’s sake, he sat with Joe Chill in his last moments so that he wouldn’t be alone. Joe Chill, the man who murdered his parents, who took so much from him, the person responsible for all of the misery and suffering he’s gone through. And he sits with the man to comfort him while dies. Do you know how much emotional intelligence and maturity that must take? To comfort someone who arguably ruined your life?

And you’re gonna tell me the man who did that would abuse his kids?

That he’d hold up the young man whose death was his greatest failure, the boy he grieved, and say this?

That he’d look his goddamn son in the eyes and say this to him?

Why the FUCK do you think he took in Dick Grayson in the first place? It wasn’t because he saw the kid and thought “Ah. A potential soldier.”, it was because he saw a boy experiencing the same heartbreaking loss he had so many years ago, and wanted to make sure he didn’t end up as bitter and miserable as he was.

Why do you think he smiled when Tim Drake presented him a broken watch for Father’s Day? Because he was just happy to see the boy alive and safe.

DAMIAN LITERALLY POINTED AT A COW AND SAID “I’m keeping her. She’s Bat-Cow.” AND BRUCE JUST WENT WITH IT. DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO ARGUE WHY BRUCE SHOULD LET HIM KEEP HER. HE SAID “this cow is my pet now” AND BRUCE SAID “aight, bet”.

The thing about Batman is that he wants to make sure nobody else ends up feeling the way he does. That’s not just about stopping a mugger so a boy’s parents aren’t gunned down. It’s about giving his loved ones the support and care that he couldn’t have, because it was taken from him. It’s about comforting someone who just went through a traumatic experience and letting them know that they’re going to be okay. It’s about going to someone locked away in a cell who thinks that they’re a lost cause and a burden to society and telling them that he wants to help them get better. It’s about EMPATHY and COMPASSION.

That’s what makes him a HERO. He’s meant to inspire us, to show us that we can have that same empathy for others around us, that we can turn our suffering into hope for a better future.

I just wish more people at DC would start recognizing that. But I might as well follow that example myself. Maybe through this struggle of having to see this hero mistreat the people around him and act like a grade-A jackass, people will start to recognize that missing compassion, and slowly but surely, it might come back. After all, what is this post, if not trying to bring attention to the matter in the hopes of fixing it?

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 3

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school as the arrogant douche who occasionally spread rumours about you. He's blown up recently as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. For an unknown reason, he's obsessed with the idea of you being his girlfriend, and after you announce you will be moving out, he decides to imprison you in his house. You learn he's even more abusive than ever, especially with his new influence. Details: Physical and verbal abuse, NSFW, manipulation, fem reader, kidnapping, non-con, oral Warning: NSFW, Non-Con

"I'm back!" A voice that sends terror to your nerves calls up towards the bedroom. He sounds happy... energized, even. It causes you to relax your tense muscles.

Your face is sticky with dried tears, and fresh tears on top of that. You're starving, and you've had to go drink water from the bathroom sink just so you wouldn't dehydrate. Your voice feels gone and you were too scared to try and escape with the threat of an alarm.

So pathetic. You might just be letting this happen to you. You might like this after all, being a victim.

No, no. Keep strong.

You shake your head of the dangerous thought. The betrayal of your own mind.

You tried, you did try. The door. You tried knocking it down so many times. But it was solid and felt like a 3 meter thick stone block.

He unlocks the door. He walks towards you.

Please. Please don't.

"I'm so fucking exhausted, shit." He sits down on the edge bed next to you and lies back.

You flinch away. Your empty stomach sinks five meters and you regret flinching from him. He could get angry again, and he might-

He glances at your cowering body from the corner of his eye. You weren't scared then, so why so scared now? Can't you see he's trying to be nice? It irks him, truthfully. He's not a fucking monster for God's sake.

"So, you're not going to ask me about my tiring day at work?"

"Why are you doing this." You ask him, your words flat to the wall as you gaze at the small bumps of the dried white paint to avoid looking at him, heart hammering.

Jacob could just ignore that. He could shut you up, train you. But he's a nice guy. He's chill, he's a sweetheart. He's a harmless flirt! (That's how the latest news articles had described him as. How could anyone not fall at their knees?

"Because I like you." He replies. And it's a truth of sorts. He does like your body. He likes how you look, and your voice. He doesn't like how you act as of late though, like a pretentious whore.

"Jacob, please, I don't like you in that way. I have... I have a life, I have plans. I- I have to go to college in a few months, please!" You cry out, losing all composure.

He laughs out loudly at your cries. "Y/n, what life? Your own parents don't even think of you as their child, you have no friends, and you have no house!"

He sits up and roughly grabs your face.

"Stop. Whining."

His hands feel tight around your jaw, like he could crush it. His hold on you forces your lips to pout slightly and you feel humiliated.

He quickly lets go and gently pats you on the back, like he's cheering up a sad child or something.

"Sorry," He says after a bit of quiet. "I just feel like you could at least pretend to care."

Insane. That's the only word that comes to your mind. He's insane and nobody except you knows. Your friends at their fancy university, they don't know, your parents, they don't know, no one knows.

You stare back at him. His wavy hair sits slightly messed from his tantrum, his doe-like eyes that dig into your own. It's deceptively sweet and trustworthy. But he also had a darker side to him, you could feel it, not from the way he sat, or analyzed his every surrounding, not even his need to control everything. No, no, it was an instinctive scream that rang echos in your soul to run away. He was not a sweet boy, he was a dangerous man, and you needed to get away. In fact, he'd never been a sweet boy. At best, a playground bully. Appearances were deceiving, and that gave you chills.

Is that why he had imprisoned you like this? Because you had broken free of his control? Then perhaps you could free yourself by aligning back with his wants, whatever that was. You could pretend. You could pretend to be his girlfriend.

"Umm... So you had a long day?" You try. You're fearful for a negative reaction.

But almost immediately, his face brightens up.

"Yeah, I had to film 3 interviews today and everyone was fucking disgusting. They're so fake, I could see right through them. Every one of them, they're hideous." He rants, as he comes closer to you slowly.

"Unlike you, you're breathtakingly perfect." He winks at you.

He reaches over to hold your hand and you let him. You have no energy, really.

"Y/n, I have so much stress pent up inside me." He tells you. His eyes brush your body in a way that makes you feel like throwing up. Throwing up what, you don't know, because you haven't had food in almost a day.

"You do?" You ask slowly, unsure what he means by that.

A cord of tense atmosphere wraps itself onto both of you, and it holds you two there. The air feels thick.

"Yeah, I mean, I just really need to release the stress."

He spreads his legs just slightly, and your heart stops at what he's suggesting. His jeans have a bulge in it, that wasn't there this morning.

As you sit on the edge of the bed with your legs tucked in under you, you feel a sweat arising from the deepest core of your body, the type that forces you to run. To run away from this.

But you can't.

"No- please- Jacob, no, please, I'm a virgin," You back away into the headboard as you begin to sob.

He comes closer to you and you want to puke. Really.

"I thought you cared about me. I thought we agreed that in order for this relationship to work we need to care about each other?" He demands.

Your stomach grumbles. Jacob smiles at this, having already planned everything.

"You're hungry right? You haven't eaten at all? I got food and it's downstairs." He says.

"Yeah- yeah I'm hungry." You reply, shaking.

"Then, do this for me and I'll let you eat." He holds your handcuffs and drags you close to himself.

You freak and you thrash, trying to get away, but he holds onto your tied wrists tight. "Jacob, please, I'm so scared, I don't want to do this. It's too early." You beg him.

"You're a virgin?" He asks, and you're confused. You already told him, so why's he interrogating you like this?

"Yes." You respond, hesitant.

"Ok, doesn't matter, you'll still be one at the end." He says, in a relaxed tone. You're left to ponder what he means by that. It's a contradicting statement, to have sex and still be a virgin.

Jacob sees your confusion and smirks. "What, like you've never heard of being a blowjob?" He says mockingly. "Get down on the floor."

You gasp at his crude words and try to shrink away, off the bed.

"Kneel down, or I'm going to cut your fucking finger off." He threatens. His threat still fresh in your mind, you force your own body to move down onto the floor.

He releases the hold on your handcuffs and you kneel down on the floor. It forces you to look up at his open legs.Jacob undos his black leather belt.

"Now, pull my zipper down." He orders, hand on your shoulder.

You try to, with your cuffed hands, but it won't work. The hands which are bound render you incapable of unzipping his pants.

"Jacob-" You begin.

"You have a mouth, right?" He interrupts you with a patronizing smile.

The absolute humiliation of this, the way he treats you like an animal leaves you furious. His sincere suggestion of you to kneel and use your teeth to undress him. You still do it though, because what choice do you truly have? You lean your face into the intersection of his pants and hold your breath in fear. You take his pant zipper in between your teeth and drag it down, like a dog. His underwear looks like it'll burst, and maybe he knows that, because he quickly pushes it down to reveal his hard-on. His dick slaps his lower abdomen from the release of the constricting fabric. It's almost painfully red at the tip.

It's big, and maybe scary isn't the right word to utilize in describing this scene in front of you, but all you feel is white-hot fear.

"Well?" He asks.

"I don't know how." You tell him.

"Just put your mouth on it, no teeth." He replies.

But you just can't force yourself to do it. You shake your head no and tears well up in your waterline again. Jacob smiles, in a knowing way, and he reaches over to the nightstand drawer. You freeze and analyze every microscopic movement of his body. He opens the top drawer while still holding onto your hair, tight.

Jacob didn't really want to do this to you. Well, maybe just a little. Okay, he wanted to do this a lot.

He grabs a sharp knife and puts it to your neck. However small, it's still a blade, which causes you to instinctively jolt. You scream and try to move your neck away.

"Do you really want to do that?" He asks, still having your hair in a strong grasp. "One wrong move and it cuts into a very important vein."

You must think he's so sick. What would you do if you knew he was getting turned on from this? That's why he loved you so much, you were the only person he could really do this to. You were a nobody from his past, but you were a nobody from his past.

"Jacob please, please, I'm not ready." You let out a sob, as the blade broke the soft skin of your neck. Your body shakes in terror.

You feel your breathes quicken and your chest tightens up. Jacob notices how your small body is heaving rapidly, and his gaze softens, a little.He lifts off some pressure from the knife and pushes your head onto his cock. You're tired, you're starving, you might die. Your fogged-up brain lets your body be lead like a marionette as you let his tip press into your plush red lips you don't fight back.

"Suck it with your tongue." He orders.

And you do, you cautiously lick the tip of his length with a few swirls, tasting him. It's repulsive.

"Oh fuck." He moans, throwing his head back slightly.

So he likes that.

You hope he'll be happy with your tentative licking, but he becomes greedier and greedier with each second. He pushes himself deeper into your mouth until you start to gag and cough. The foreign object in your throat keeps you from breathing and you desperately want to throw it up. But his hands have a strong hold on your head.

"Oh god, yeah, oh, you're doing so good- oh, baby, you-you sure it's your first time?" He moans out, panting and he begins to thrust himself in shallow ins and outs.

He doesn't expect an answer, this is all his fantasy after all.

You press on his legs to push him off, and he finally removes his cock. You lump over and you cough. He forces back into your mouth after a few quick breathes though, he's searching for his release and it's coming soon. Tears are just a part of your appearance now, as he thrusts into your throat you can feel your mind going somewhere else.

He starts to become rougher and his legs tense.

"Fuck, shit, oh fucking fuck!" His face is in bliss, a contrast to your own.

He goes deeper and faster and he manages to make out one last sentence.

"Swallow, don't you dare spit it out."

A thick, hot, but salty liquid floods your mouth, and you wince at the gross substance that coats your tongue, but you brace yourself and swallow.

Jacob stares at you and pats your head, as if that makes up for it.

You collapse of exhaustion on the floor and Jacob gets up to change into his sweatpants first. Then he puts the knife away and brushes his hair slightly.

Finally, he scoops you up, and sees that you're unconscious. You look tired but peaceful, like a fairy, or a dying angel. Your eyes are closed as your lashes curve just a little bit upwards, your lips in a relaxed position. Your skin is radiant, and Jacob finds himself smiling at your beauty.

He gently puts you on his bed, and covers you with a thick blanket.

"Sleep well. I'll get you breakfast tomorrow, I promise."

If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy the rough draft version on wattpad. Yes, I know, wattpad stories suck, but that's the place it's at for all the public to see. There are far more chapters, so I just wanted to let anyone curious know, since re-editing these chapters take some time.

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

--

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

[ishomieokay]

Ok, so I just made a post about Homelander having the most tragic backstory in The Boys so I want to expand a bit on that (although literally no one asked, lmao).

Look, this isn't even about Homelander having the saddest backstory ever. Being turned into a guinea pig in order to create a super weapon is literally a cliché in superhero fiction.

The difference, methinks, is that the only character in his verse with an equally horrific origin story is Soldier Boy. But, take into account: Soldier is 1) another irredeemable villain, and 2) we're basically told he ended up in that situation because he was the most violent, petty, sexist, homophobic, fucked-up man who ever lived. Homelander was litterally just... born in the lab.

For some context, look at this guy:

Magneto has one of the saddest backstories in superhero fiction. And I'm not exaggerating here. My man literally grew up in Auschwitz. But his backstory works in a way that Homelander's doesn't because we ARE supposed to sympathize with Erik. We are supposed to understand the motivations behind his actions, even if we don't condemn them. There's also many other characters in the X-Men's universe who have gone through similar ordeals, because humans being awful and ostracizing others for being different is like, A Main Theme of the comics.

Meanwhile, Homelander's backstory seems to just be an excuse for him to be insane, scary and disturbing. The show never frames it as a reason to sympathize with him. Now, don't get me wrong. I'll be the first one to admit that Homelander's fucked up psychology allows for some pretty metal scenes, and I do enjoy them. But the fact that we're just meant to laugh at that while never really contemplating the implications of what happened to him is bafling to me.

Hey, look at that guy, he was deeply traumatized from a young age, and growing up, he was neither socialized nor given the basic tools a child needs to develop a personality or form basic human connections. Now he's super disturbed, has weird kinks and doesn't really understand how to be a human. Haha, hilarious!

What makes it even worse is that the main characters, who we are supposed to be rooting for, have stories that are for the most part unsympathetic or make no sense.

The backstory of Hughie, our main guy, is that his girlfriend died. We're off to a bad start because we hate the Dead Girlfriend Trope here. He's banging a new chick like, a week later (?) and then rarely thinks about Robin again.

We have Frenchie, a guys who kills people and it makes him sad (?), but he never really stops.

Annie and M.M. have sympathetic stories with good motivations, but they are not really expanded upon. At times, it really feels like Annie is just there to have Relationship Problems with Hughie. Which, you know, doesn't make any fucking sense because she's the face of the nation-wide political movement that opposes Homelander. By all accounts, SHE should be Homelander's nemesis, not Butcher. And instead we get a rivalry with Firecracker? Seriously?

In the first seasons, M.M was literally just There. Then, we get his backstory with Soldier Boy, but for some reason his generic Divorced Dad arc is a priority over that. Great.

With Maeve we had the potential of an amazing backstory, but again, it's not really expanded upon. It's implied that she had a dysfunctional relationship with Homelander, but we don't really know what happened. Was it consensual? Was it entirely coerced? Was it abusive? If it was, what did he do to her? How did she manage to break up with him without getting killed in the process? Like, we're missing so much context with Maeve, it's not even funny.

Then, we have A-Train, who starts off on a path to redeem himself inspired by the death of his girlfriend, whom he killed himself (?). Then he realizes that Homelander Must Be Stopped because he makes fatphobic comments (?????). He gets his brother paralyzed and kills a guy to take revenge (still unsure if that was supposed to be a heroic act, tbh). And then finally he earns his redemption by taking a guy to the hospital (?????????) and that's enough for Hughie to forgive him for KILLING HIS GIRLFRIEND. Bitch, what?? It's the worst redemption arc I've ever seen and people are literally comparing it to Zuko's. Get my man out of your mouth!!!

And finally, Butcher, a guy whose entire story and motivations are based on something that happened to someone else. Why did we ever make Becca's rape about him??? And THEN it just turns into the typical Dead Girlfriend Trope. I mean, S3 was the only time when his character arc made any sense to me because it was actually dealing with interesting themes like cycles of abuse and bad parenting, but his story in other seasons is really not It.

Literally, the only exception to all of this is Kimiko. Who is also violent and unstable, who also can't stop killing and is unapologetic about it because she is what they made her. But for some reason we're supposed to sympathize her but not with Homelander. Weird take, but ok.

Just to clarify, I'm not saying that you need to sympathize with the Nazi rapist. I'm just calling out the writers for being bad, lmao.

[kagoutiss]

So I am having SO MANY thoughts about the twinrova and how they’re a couple centuries old and so would’ve lived through multiple rulers before “serving” ganondorf.

Like they raised him, what was their agenda? Did they have plans spanning multiple sovereigns to secure their power over the gerudo? Did they have the Omni man ��what’s another century we’ll just raise the next one” kind of feelings towards him if he didn’t become their puppet or weapon?

So much thot not enough brain space this rot is taking over me

ooooooogh twinrova brainrot is strong in me too…..yeah because if they’re ~400 years old and OoT ganondorf was still just in his twenties at the time, and a male gerudo child is born every century, then presumably they could’ve been in the position of raising said children multiple times? i think i remember seeing a take somewhere that considered the idea of twinrova’s role in the gerudo being similar to that of impa serving as an attendant/mentor to zelda, and i think that’s a really cool idea. there’s probably also a lot of potential angst to be found in these little old witches who may have cared for previous gerudo princes, and would have had the incredible responsibility of keeping them safe in childhood, while also training them in witchcraft and war strategy, and advising them in their kingship as adults. because if that’s the case, they would’ve seen those princes live and die multiple times too

it kinda makes you wonder if their love for ganondorf is so obsessive in part because they know firsthand how painful it is to lose a child, to live long enough to outlive to your children multiple times. tbh, i feel like them using ganondorf as their proxy for everything, and trying to make him an all-powerful being at any cost, is more a product of their love for him, than it is a litmus test of whether they‘ll love him or not? and by this i don’t mean they’re like,,, a healthy family by any means, like you can still easily apply terms like abuse and trauma-bonding to parts of their dynamic, imo. i think kotake & koume love ganondorf genuinely, and always have, and that the sentiment is mutual. it’s just that they’re willing to go to very extreme lengths to protect/empower ganon in the ways they believe are necessary, because they are very aware of how important he is, to them and the gerudo as a whole. and ironically, a lot of the time, this desperation ends up being not at all conducive to his safety, or sanity, or happiness

like…raising him with expectations and standards that are completely unreasonable for any human being, that turn him into an ambition-driven nutjob who invents lightning magic & masters all types of weaponry & plays a pipe organ, while also having virtually no ability to form genuine relationships with people other than his mothers. or them trying to make him into an impervious, all-powerful being by trying to take divine power, which sometimes inadvertently turns the rational parts of his brain into soup and sets them on fire. or them trying to revive him after death in the downfall timeline by sacrificing themselves, inadvertently bringing him back wrong, and sentencing him to an existence he never would’ve originally wanted

idk. they’re really fun and also heartbreaking to think about. he engraves their names into his weapons, they willfully die just for the possibility of allowing him to live again. their familial relationship seems to be the most important bond in the lives of everyone involved in it, at the expense of any other kind of connections in their lives. he’s their figurative puppet in a few ways, and will break himself over and over if it means meeting their expectations, but i doubt any of them see it that way. everyone involved gets extremely hurt in one way or another, no matter what, often in an attempt to do the opposite, out of love and fear. little fucked up witch fambly……it’s so much

[theloganator101]

The Great BNHA Review: Characters or Check Lists?

Oh Characters...

The bread and butter to all stories.

The thing that gets a story from Point A to Point B, the thing that allows us to connect with the story and helps it feel alive. You can pretty much make any character for your story, from the gentle and kindhearted to the more rough around the edges... to making them likable or unlikable. There are many ways to write a character and how they can make your story come to life.

And by bringing this up you know where this is headed... that BNHA utterly failed at expanding their characters into being people we're supposed to care about.

I could make a long fucking list of how BNHA failed every single one of it's characters it introduced but to keep that from happening, I'm just going to either list certain characters or just group them together since some of them share one common thing that's holding them back from being good.

Starting off with!

Shota Aizawa:

He was supposed to a hardass with a hidden heart of gold for his students, but what he ENDED up as was a walking hypocrite who hated Izuku for no other than he was associated with All Might and couldn't control his quirk... and then CONTINUED to give Izuku a hard time and labeled him as the "problem child" like... I don't even have the energy to get mad here, I'm saving THAT for another time in this review.

Oh and then there's him holding up this ridiculously high standard for his students to reach or else he fails them... which is exactly what happened when he failed Sero in the finals but allowed Bakugou to pass for doing the same.

Which again his hypocrisy gets in the way of that!

And not once does he ever get called out or punished for his blantant abuse in power and instead gets complimented and praised for his methods as if he's the next Einstein.

Fucking end me.

The Todoroki Family:

Oh how Hori totally fucked you guys over in the end... Natsu I'd give a pass since he ended on a more believable note, but sadly I can't say the same for Rei and Fuyumi.

As they were never allowed to think bad of the guy that made their lives hell and were instead to jump on the forgiveness train and take Endeavor's side so they can be a "Happy family" again. Which... no, that's literally stockholm syndrome.

Class 1-A:

... (Sighs)

Oh my babies... oh my favorites... look how that monster Hori ruined you all...

He tried to have this found family dynamic for them all, only for it all to fall apart since... you know, they barely interacted at all and got any screentime.

And it also didn't help that Hori had all of them as bystanders to Izuku's suffering, make fun of his interests, and follow Bakugou when he led them to beat him into coming back. So it really doesn't work when you have these things on your mind and fails to convince you that they give a shit about Izuku and his wellbeing.

And the worst part is that they ALL look like they have stories waiting to be told, but we don't get any of that. At most they're only used to fight against the minions while the Cash Cow Triplets fight the big hero.

Every Female Character in this Series:

Oh boy what even is there to talk about? Since they barely have any personality of their own and are only made to be fanservice for the pervs that likes watching anime girls in bikinis. They definitely deserves much better and to be in a story that'll treat them with respect and dignity.

ESPECIALLY to those like Hagakure and Miruko.

All Might:

Oh All Might, how the story did you dirty.

If there's anyone in this story that I feel sorry for the most (That isn't Izuku) It's All Might.

All because of how he started off at the beginning, people clung to the idea that he's a quirkest asshole who Izuku needs to steer clear from... even though he's literally the one to save Izuku from literally living in misery.

All Might deserves to be an actual mentor and father figure for Izuku, not fucking Aizawa who openly expressed his hatred for the boy.

The League of Villains:

I already made a post on how the narrative did them dirty and I don't feel like repeating myself, so I'm just gonna leave a link here while adding this.

What was even the point of building them up to be forgiven by their foils if they were just gonna die in the end? It was all just a big time waster.

And of course, we can't talk about characters and how the author failed them without talking about...

Izuku Midoriya:

Oh Izuku... the most tragic and wasted main character I've ever seen in an anime series.

He started off so strong only to get worse as the series went on. He should've been the shining definition of what a hero SHOULD be! He should've been the one to realize how fucked their world was and strive to change it for the better and to prevent others like him from suffering like he did.

But... we didn't get any of that.

We don't get acknowledgment of his past, we don't get him rising from his pain and become something more. Instead we get a watered down version of him at the beginning who has NO reaction or introspection to anything whatsoever, not to the world they live in, to the way things are handled, and even to him losing OFA.

For some odd fucking reason, Izuku is never allowed to grow out "I'm worthless" mindset or realization that everyone in his life has failed him in one way or another. He just praises it all like the fanboy he is and just stays where he is.

And then there's the fact that he just flat out refuses to ever acknowledge his past in any meaningful way, as whenever he DOES bring it up, he talks about his past self as if he's a different person from him. To which I can kinda see how this could be symbolic of something... But it just doesn't work as it only makes him look horrible for forgetting his roots and just wanting to fit in with the other people with quirks. To which it somewhat feels like "Fuck the quirkless they're useless so why even focus on them?"

He's a hollow version of the idea of his character, just blankly reacting to things in front of him and praising Bakugou for being the best thing to come around. He honestly deserves better and deserves to be with a writer that won't bully him and give him the depth and development he needs.

Now who else am I missing...?

...

Oh yeah!

Katsuki Bakugou is still trash.

Look forward to the next part.

(Roundabout starts playing)

[starreyblueberry]

OH MY GOD THIS IS A LONG FUCKING POST.. SORRY GUYSS LOL Ok but if im being serious here's how I think a how-to train your dragon/fairly odd parents au could come about. First of all it depends on how we change the storyline, if we go for the OG story with just a few tweaks, then I want Timmy to be hiccup and Peri to be toothless. Timmy already feels left out and excluded by his peers half the time, and I could see him trying to invent items and creations to help hunt Dragons in the first place. His dad being the head of the village and obvi being a dragon hunter. Dragons in this au though would be able to do magic as well, they would be able to understand humans a bit better (but are still essentially animals). My idea for how exactly the war starts. Kids used to run away frequently, rather its cause they feel shut out, neglected, abused, or cause they just hated where they were, they would run off deep deep into the forest, with a bag of food and water in their hand that can only last them a few days. After realizing what they've got themselves into, it would just be pure dread, they would run around screaming for help, but they were in a maze of trees and wilderness, basically making it impossible for a child to actually find where they can go home! Thats where the dragon part comes in! Dragons would hear their cries, and help children get back home. They would help them survive, give them food and water, and whenever a kid said "I wish" it just so happened to appere next to them! Dragons were able to understand humans quite well, and they formed a bond with a lot of these kids, but were quick to part once they helped the kids find their way home. Once home these children would share stores of their adventures, these dragons, and at first they would seem crazy, but too many kids were hashing out the same story, and it started to become a bit suspicious. One of these children was crcokers ancestors! uhh ill call him CA for short!! He ran off, cried, and got a dragon to help him with whatever he was going though and take hi home. He told his mom with so much excitement! Describing these pink and green dragons- with spikes shaped like stars, and glowing dust surrounding them- but his mom thought he was crazy! I mean dragons?? Who could believe it.

Until one day CA ran off again. She remembered his whole dragon spheel, and went looking. After days of hunting and searching, she found him with the dragon. She screamed, her first thought wasn't kindness, wasn't gratitude for this creature keeping her son safe, it was fear. She tried to attack it, and well um... its like a 15 foot dragon guys. It was kinda easy to kill her LOL. The sight was NOT pretty too, and CA saw all of it. He swore vengeance on these Dragons, refusing to let any Dragons near humans ever again. Soon enough word was able to spread, and more and more adults got scared, and worried. Stories of horrifying man eating creatures were spread, but kids were still running away.

A hunting party was gathered, after the 4th kid came crying to their dad being killed by a dragon, they had enough. The kid led the search party, and it was practically the whole village!! It was a battle- a long one, but they killed the first ever dragon. Dragons did not take this light heartly, I mean, they give food, shelter, to the kids they choose to neglect? And they try to kill their kind? They were PISSED.

Thus the war started, Years passed as Dragons slowly started to attack villages (especially as food was getting scarse and humans seemed to be taking it all.) As I said Timmys dad is head of the village, he takes care of the hunting parties and is the one with the highest kill count, he's friendlier in general but is even less trusting of Timmy then Stoic was to Hiccup. Timmy was such a bright kid, with amazing ideas! He wants to become just like his dad, even though his dad barely even pays attention to him. He wants to impress him- the entire village- but every time he tries, he just ruins everything over and over again. He has a deal with the local huntress Vicky, to teach him how to make weapons, but let's just say she doesn't care for teaching him, rather instead using him as a personal test dummy to how good these weapons are. Ok that's like the base idea ill post something else about how Peri, cosmo, and wanda are in and YES I'm changing the story a bit, its not going to be the exact same character arcs, but it will have the same plot/ending heart :3 ill be making a post later focusing on Timmy

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Run and Hide

🩸Previous Parts Here🩸

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, past abuse, cursing, recent murder, feds being awful, boys in trouble, labor pains, improper use of hand sanitizer, giving birth, slightly graphic descriptions of birth and after birth, improper tools for the job, secrets coming out, hurt/comfort, Dom putting his foot in his mouth, Dom being a momentary idiot, past miscarriage, scared boys, baby fear (just for a moment), naughty thoughts in the wrong situation, baby worship, cliffhanger, enemies to lovers 💣 Rating: mature

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

The Alpha couldn't answer at first, his mind was racing with too many thoughts. He needed to get The Doctor back, he needed to get his lover out, he needed to get him comfortable, he needed- “You should ask ya mum. I left to follow ‘er because we found out she'd been taking money from the business.” He explained simply. That shouldn't be too overwhelming and he hoped it would get the subject dropped. He walked back over to the door and noticed Doc fighting with someone in a uniform. She was obviously out. Fuck.

He didn't attempt to open the door, there were too many guns trained on him so instead he thought he'd take his mate to their flat. The moment he reached the other man to pick him up the power around them went out and the overhead lights switched from their normal to the back up emergency red. “What the fuck!” Colson growled out, his body tense with contractions. He did not want to have his baby crouched in the fucking lobby next to two dead bodies! “They're all fucking dead! Right? You killed them!”

“Course. Probably jus’ don't know. ‘Ang on luv.” He soothed but the glare he got for it was withering.

“To what? You want me to push Punk’s head back up? Want me to vacuum the little brat? I'm tight Dom but I'm not fucking- fuck! Magic!” The pains were coming faster, barely any time between them and the omega wanted to scream. Of course this would be his luck. Was he really about to be outed on national news?

Dom scoffed before trying to swallow the pit in his throat and he pulled his phone free of his pocket. He dialed Tom’s number and was thankful as hell when the other man answered. “Dom! Fuck- What's happening inside?”

“Inside? Fuck tha’! Wha's 'appening outside? Power went out. I need Doc! I need to get Cols out!”

“Don't! The head guy doesn't know who's who inside. They said even if everyone is dead they can't allow anymore in or out until they send SWAT to clear the whole place and disarm the bombs.” Tom's voice was worried and obviously annoyed with the people in control of the situation.

“Well send ‘em the fuck in! We about to ‘ave a baby in ‘ere. Do ‘ey give a fuck?”

The omega on the other end sighed, Dom could feel his fear and anger. It was sweet honestly, he knew the man wanted to be with them to support his new brother. “I think there's someone higher up trying to use this to their advantage. I've heard whispers about checking our flat for evidence. You have to remember who Kells is to them. Do you want me to explain the emergency?” They both knew the gravity of doing so. To explain the coming child they would be outing Colson as an omega. The leader of one of the biggest crime families in America. Shite.

“No. Fuck. I can do ‘is.” Dom took a deep breath and looked back at his mate. He would do anything to protect him. “So it ain't obvious yet?” His gaze flicked out over the scene outside, over all the crowd gathered and the news crews.

“Not yet. He's too far inside. It's being speculated he was hurt. Can you get him behind the counter?”

“Yeah. I got ‘is.” The Alpha wasn't sure if he did in fact have it but he had to act in control to keep his lover calm. He was confident his best friend was about to agree with him but the line went dead and he heard a funny noise through his phone. When he pulled it away and looked at the screen he realized he suddenly had zero bars. The fuckers were using a jammer? They were going to be completely cut off in a sea of probably thousands paying attention to them. The juxtaposition made him dizzy.

He took one last calming deep breath before turning to set to work. He started by ripping the cushions off the nearby chairs to lay behind the counter in a half arsed nest attempt. When he heard a sound besides his lover's groans he pulled the gun from his waistband and turned to aim but the barrel ended up pointed at Blain and he dropped it automatically. “Why the fuck ain't you outside wiv the Doc?” The Alpha growled, he already had a mate and child in this mess, he didn't need the other one caught inside with the explosives.

“I were making sure everyone died, fanks. Tryna help, not tha’ you deserve it.” The boy was obviously overwhelmed and still terrified and Dom instantly felt awful for snapping. He paused his work to give the kid a quick hug.

“Fanks for tha’. You did good. Can ya ‘elp wiv ‘is? Go find me clean blankets and towels alright?” He was honestly deep down happy to have the young omega with them, he wasn't alone in taking care of Colson.

Blain ran off to do as he was asked and Dom got busy again until his mate asked him a follow up to his earlier query. “So mom got money, why is that bad? It's her company too. She can take what she wants. Why the hell would you follow her for it?” Dom was surprised at how scary the man was even crouching on the floor in pain. His growling voice urged the Alpha to submit.

“Because it were a crazy amount. The boys was worried so I jus’... Figured I'd check. She were sending money to the ‘ospital.” He hoped that would be enough to satisfy his lover's wondering but of course not. It could never be so easy.

“And? She loves that place. She's been obsessed with it since Travis died. She spends a lot of time there. I'm glad she has something to keep- fuck! To keep b- busy.” The omega tried to keep his mind on other things than the feeling of his body ripping apart from asshole to dick. It was madness that anyone would do this shit more than once. Could anything be worth it?

Dom couldn't stop himself from snorting a laugh. “Course she was.” He grumbled and startled when the emergency phone on the wall rang. They shared a look but he answered it and almost cheered aloud when he heard Mod on the other end.

“They don't know about this one. It's running on the backup. How's it going in there?” The beta asked.

“Oh ya know, jus’ about to ‘ave a baby. You?” He knew he shouldn't be glib but he couldn't help it. The whole ordeal was absolutely mental. He was sure if everything went smoothly they'd laugh about it one day but he was pissed that the government was risking his family.

“Probably worse actually. You should be glad you're stuck in there. Collette showed up.” That one sentence told Dom all he needed to know but Mod still held the phone in the direction of raised voices. He could hear Tim shouting and he wondered why he sounded so affected by the situation he knew was playing out. He sounded more heartbroken than anything.

“You doing alright?” He paused to ask, he cared about the beta and he knew this might upset him. He could on occasion show he had something resembling heart.

“I'm just scared for Cols.”

“Me too. But one fing at a time.”

“He doesn't know?”

“Can't tell ‘im yet. Baby first.”

“I fucking heard that asshole!” Kells cursed from his spot on the floor and Dom huffed, putting the phone on speaker as Blain came back with blankets. They set about to get the nest more comfortable before he moved to pick up his lover and carry him to the more hidden and comfortable spot. He could scent the pain rolling off his mate and it broke his heart. He wished he could take it all away. “Mod?” The man's voice went soft when he realized he could hear his best friend.

“Hey brother, sounds like you're having fun.” The beta teased.

“Oh fuck you, it's the worst. I'm never doing this shit again! Don't you dare fucking knock up Tom. I'll cut your dick off for him.” He could hear the other omega laughing and he flushed. He hadn't realized they were on speaker as well.

“Where did you get the idea we'd even-”

“Oi come off it bruv, we ain't tha’ daft.” Dom rolled his eyes.

“Actually you'd be surprised. Guess who's door I found out swung both ways and I never fucking noticed?” Col knew it wasn't the right time but he couldn't help needing to gossip with his partner. Dom was always the first person he told everything to.

Dom arched a brow as pieces started falling in place, the puzzle that was taking shape almost made him laugh. No wonder Tim was shouting before. He was honestly surprised they couldn't still hear him. “Who?” He went ahead and let his man tell him, he knew how much fun it was for him. Even when he knew the news already or Colson had already told him he let him say it again.

“Travis! Him, Tim, and mom were all together. Although I guess Tim was more fruity than Trav cause-” Col was cut off by a few cleared throats on the other side of the phone and he blushed. Oops. He'd forgotten they were on the phone and on speaker on top of that.

“I'm not sure about fruity but I'm not the one with a closet Barbie threw up in.” The older beta teased and the omega wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.

“Got a point. Luv, time to strip.” Dom’s tone took on something more no-nonsense. They could play fuss all they wanted to distract the man but someone had to get the baby out safely.

Colson’s eyes went wide as he looked around, they were thankfully hidden from the windows but he still felt exposed. He was tempted to ask his lover to carry him up to their apartment but he knew better. He'd end up giving birth on the damn stairwell. Dom didn't give him time to worry, he just pulled Col’s messy shoes off and started tugging his pants and underwear down. Everything was probably ruined and it pissed him off but at least it wasn't his normal clothes. He'd already decided he wasn't having more kids, he could stand to lose the pregnancy pants. The shoes however…

“Bloody ‘ell!” The young omega cursed when he got an accidental look between Col’s thighs. The Alpha gave him a chiding look but turned a bit pale when he looked.

“You both get off on ripping people apart but this is too much? Fuck you!” He could feel tears burning his eyes but he fought them back. He knew logically he'd balk at the sight so he couldn't blame them. He was just glad he couldn't see.

“No luv, it's beautiful!” The killer tried to fix it but his voice broke like the teenager he actually was and multiple people snorted at his lie. Those on the phone couldn't see thankfully but they could imagine. “‘Ey, Colson- it's our baby coming, yeah you a mess but you beautiful. Don't listen to ‘em.”

When the Alpha pressed his forehead to Col’s and tried to breathe with him it soothed something in the man's chest. So what his pussy was a wreck? “Not like you ever get to use it again.” He huffed through grit teeth. His contractions were constant and the burn was insane. He was sure he was being roasted over an open flame. He wanted to make a joke about nuts and fires but he wasn't sure anyone would understand.

“Baby? Can you hear me?” Collette’s soft voice was music to his ears and a sob broke free as Dom gave him space and handed him the phone.

“Mom? I need you.” Both boys gave him a soft look and he thought he saw their eyes wet too but all he could focus on was her and the pain rushing through him.

“No you don't. You have your family and I'm here but you can do this. You don't need me and you don't need Doc. Your body knows what to do. Listen to it.” She kept her voice even and sweet and it loosened something tight and dark in his chest. He hadn't realized how young and small and helpless Megan had made him feel but she had broken something inside him when he had to agree with her. He could still feel her cut searing but it was all blending together. He just hoped he didn't get rabies from her shank ass.

“Why the fuck would you say that? The last time I listened to my stupid body I let an idiot Alpha knock me up!” He cried back and Dom gave him a blinding smile. Psycho bitch. He was adorable.

“Are you trying to tell me that's not the first good decision of your life?” She huffed.

“Fanks mum.” The Alpha smiled brighter, of course she would be sucking up to him though but he was so messed up and terrified deep down he'd take what he could get.

“Yeah, thanks. Trying to make him cockier? I can promise you he doesn't need the damn h-help- shit!” Another cramp locked his body up and he suddenly didn't feel he was in the right position. He could feel Punk moving inside him and laying down felt wrong.

He handed the phone to Blain who moved to his side and Dom held him steady as he rolled to all fours before kneeling on the cushions and spreading his legs wide. He gripped the edge of the counter to hold himself up and his mate frog crouched behind him, his strong hands rubbing kinks out of his lower spine but the relief was distant.

“See? Just listen to your body. You know what to do.” Collette hummed and he arched a brow, looking around for hidden cameras or a peep hole somewhere. It turned out she just knew his ass that well and he hoped he could end up half the mother she was.

“Hey bitches! Hey Batman, can you tell me how dilated Col is?” The Doctor spoke up and Dom blinked a moment before realizing he was Batman.

“Batman? Fuck that. Absolutely not. He doesn't get to play hero. He's Dexter for fucks sake!” Colson complained and the Alpha had to agree.

“You can tell me that again after you're not hating him for the baby. Now Dom, I need you to put your fingers together and try to fit them inside him. Tell me how many go easy.”

“Sounds like most our nights but alright.” The killer teased and got a laugh from his mate.

It was taking Dom too long to make a move and Kells started getting nervous. He heard a zip and a strange noise and he looked in time to see the fucker holding a lighter under his fingers. “Holy shit! There's alcohol right the fuck there!” Col’s voice went high and the Alpha shrugged but moved to find the sanitizer his lover noted. After cleaning his hands he shook them dry and slid his touch where he was supposed to. “Of all the psycho shit-” His complaint was cut off as Dom pulled free, the way the other man acted told Col he was in more shock than he was trying to let on. More than anything he wanted them to hold each other and connect but they'd have to wait. He just looked forward to the entire mess being over. There was too much happening all at once.

“Four.” The boy explained, sucking his fingers clean but he'd already forgotten about the sanitizer and he made a face. That was alright, he could lick his lover clean after the birth.

“Damnit. It looks like this is happening without the rest of us. Col? Like your mom said you can do this. Listen to yourself and that baby, let them help. You'll be fine.” The Doctor soothed but the omega had a hard time believing it. He'd spent his life denying and hating what he was and hiding it with anything that worked. Hell, he'd entered the hotel with a jacket covering his belly and his glasses still on. He took blockers for the first week of his pregnancy and he'd been fighting himself and lying every step of the way. How could he listen to his body now? How would it know what to do? He'd been faking Alpha so long it was hard to believe there was any omega left.

“You can do this mumma. We got you.” Blain spoke softly but surely and he reached out a hand to lay over one of Colson's. He'd said the word before as a joke but he sounded so serious now. “They wiv us too. Watching over yas. Ya dad and ya baby.”

Kells didn't know if he believed in an afterlife, he liked the thought of his enemies burning in hell but the rest of it sounded so far-fetched. Besides if Satan was real he was already a devil on Earth, but the thought of Travis being with him and his lost child too… He couldn't make himself smile but he nodded at the boy. Dom went quiet but he didn't have the strength to interrogate him.

“I fink it's time to push.” The boy squeezed his hand and Colson had to agree, he could feel the baby dropping even further down.

“Can I at least have drugs?” He couldn't help but tease. Even a joint would be heaven.

“As a wise woman said to me earlier today, nut up buttercup. You can do wiv'out. You the strongest man I know. Plus…” Dom knew it was a risk and might have the complete opposite effect. He could make the comment and piss his mate off but he still leaned close and whispered in his ear. “Sooner you ‘ave our baby and ‘eal, the sooner you can fuck me proper.” He purred before sitting back and adding- “Besides, you take me knot all the time, Punk's bound to be smaller.”

There was a noise like a scoff from the phone and even though Colson partially hated his lover in the moment he had to defend the truth. They all deserved a little shame anyway and he wanted to fuck with everyone. “He's not wrong. Monster fucking cock on this wanker.” He stole an insult from his partner and beared down. While Dom was correct it still wasn't the fucking same, his knot didn't have shoulders or legs or nails.

The pain burning through him made time blur for the omega, he was overwhelmed and crying out with every breath. He knew he probably sounded insane as he growled and cursed and grunted, but he didn't care. Anything to get him through it. Dominic stayed close and kept soothing him the entire time, rubbing his back and whispering encouragement. Colson wouldn't admit it but the promise his lover gave helped him more than almost anything, he kept the picture of the killer on his belly with his ass in the air in the front of his mind and let everything else drift.

Every time someone said “push” he tried, he felt like one of Yungblud's victims with his organs gushing out between his thighs but he knew that wasn't the case. It was a fucking human. He was pushing a human being out. Oh fuck. In a quiet moment between tries as the Alpha leaned close and kissed his temple and licked over his split lip the man whimpered. “I can't fucking do it. I've been shitty to them. No wonder they don't want to come out. They can feel how awful I've been.”

“‘Ush tha’. You ain't been awful. You fink I ain't caught you in the shower? I know why you want alone time luv. I ‘ear yas. You a good mum already and our lil one knows it. Wha' ya mean ‘ey ain't wanna come out? It's a monf early! Punk can't wait to meet yas. Jus' breave wiv me and push. Already almost done.” Dom gently took his hand and led it between his legs where he felt something strange poking out of him. He was so lost to pain it took him a moment to realize it was his baby.

Dom sat back again and Kells leaned back against his chest, one arm wrapping around his lover's neck. The Alpha held him up as he grit his teeth for the next contraction and pushed like his life depended on it. He knew it did quite literally but it did figuratively as well. His entire life was about to begin in earnest with his whole family. Colson was pretty sure he was putting every sailor to shame with his mouth but it was better than focusing on how bizarre he felt. He could tell when his baby's shoulders were out, their hips, and finally those little feet they'd been kicking him with. Blain had set the phone down to get a towel ready and help catch the infant, and the kid sat back gently cleaning them once they were free.

Dominic helped his mate settle back on the nest and eased him out of his jacket and shirt. They shared a nervous look when the baby didn't automatically cry. You could have heard a pin drop as they listened for its first breath. Blain must have been told something by The Doctor when they weren't paying attention because he pulled the baby close and put his mouth over their tiny face? What the fuck?

Colson felt he could breathe again at the sound of his child's first cry. Frankly he thought he might join the little brat but when Dom took the baby to help lay them on Col’s chest his brain went quiet of everything but them. Their breath, their whimpers, all he could see was their scrunched up face and so small hands. His mate got their child comfortable against his chest and a shiver went through him. Something clicked into place in his heart, mind, and soul. “Oh, it was you.” He didn't know what he meant by that, the one he was waiting for? The one he was living for? The reason he existed at all? It didn't have to make sense, he knew it was all fucking true.

Dom pulled the towel away so he could look over his child. The emergency lights made everything red but at least he could see the important bits. Ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, and a perfect button nose. Rose bud lips wide open to scream their displeasure. Honestly the Alpha understood. Fuck the world, all that mattered was what he had in front of him.

“Looks like another boy to me.” Blain hummed, staying close but seemingly scared to interrupt too much. Dom pulled him closer and the boy smiled, reaching out to pet the baby's belly.

After a moment the little one settled down and opened his eyes enough Dom noticed something. His brows furrowed from nerves and he gently checked between his son's legs. “An alpha boy.” He whispered and swallowed hard. It didn't change how much he loved him already but the fear still tickled the back of his mind. ‘With you as a dad there's no way they'll turn out like them.’ The words his mate had said months ago circled his mind and he tried so desperately to believe him.

“Perfect Alpha boy. Just like Daddy.” Kells sniffled and forced his gaze away from his son to meet Dom’s eyes. It was something they'd both feared but now that he was here he felt silly for worrying. His son wouldn't grow up to hurt people, at least not in a bad way. With his father for example he would be kind and loving and perfect. Those little red eyes turned to him as he looked between the baby's and Dom's, a matching set and both so beautiful. “Shit I'm being roofied.”

Dom snorted a laugh and realized he was crying softly too. “Wha’ ya mean?” He asked and the omega huffed.

“All those fucking baby hormones. Bitches are making me a pussy but look at him.” They had to admit Punk was amazing.

“Bit messy innit? Suppose we all are.” Blain joked, wiping a bit more gunk off the infant. All of them were soaked in blood and worse but it didn't matter. “Family of fucked up we is.”

Colson grinned but he could feel something wrong inside him. He wanted to bask in the moment but it felt like he was still having contractions. “Something- fuck. Dom?” He whimpered, looking to the killer as if he could solve all the world's problems.

“Hey Batman?” The Doctor asked from the other end of the phone. The Alpha huffed and picked it up, his heart in his throat. What else could possibly be wrong? They'd just had a baby fucks sake. “You have to clip the cord and maybe even help him with the afterbirth.” She explained and his brows scrunched up. The bloody what now?

Kells felt like facepalming against Punk’s little hand, he knew to expect that but he'd been so wrapped up in his littlest man. “Do what you have to. Just don't interrupt us.” He grumbled, pulling the baby higher on his chest. He could hear The Doctor explaining but he didn't care. He just wanted to stare at his new love forever.

The Alpha arched a brow as he listened but handed the phone to the young omega and then he searched around for something to tie off the cord. Eventually he settled on ripping the bottom of his shirt and dipping it into the alcohol. It didn't quite feel safe enough but if he lit it on fire it would just burn away. He could tell his mate was starting to hurt more by the sweat on his brow but the man just watched their boy. It was a beautiful sight. He gently pet over his son's belly before tying the strip of cloth around the cord and close to his skin. He had no idea what he was doing but it felt right. The other strip went around it closer to Col’s core and the moment he was close he found it oddly difficult not to… play. He'd never thought himself too Alpha, in fact he fought it every day of his life. In that moment with his whelp on his mate's chest he was warring with his instincts more than ever.

He forced himself to pull back and he searched for one of his blades. When he couldn't find one he looked to Blain but the kid just shrugged and nodded in the direction of Megan. Dom cursed under his breath and stalked over to her, his head tilting when it looked as if she moved. He was sure she was dead but his anxiety was running high. He pulled the knife out of her guts and fought his urge to flay her skin. He didn't need to follow his ritual, he needed to help his lover. His family. He had to be a father and Alpha first. He had to learn priorities.

Blain watched his new father figure as he wiped off the blade and pulled out his lighter and the man tried to sterilize the metal. He held the flame close as he walked back over and parts of it looked almost red hot by the time he settled between Colson's spread legs. The boy was confused at what was happening, he didn't understand birth and was legitimately fucking terrified after watching it. Alphas didn't scare him for shite really but after seeing what unfolded he knew his adoptive mum was a badass. He tried to unobtrusively slip his hand in Colson's so the man could squeeze him if anything hurt. “Got a name yet?” He asked, trying to keep their minds busy. He wanted to help however he could to prove he could finally belong somewhere.

Dom shared a look with his partner but it was mostly playful. Kells had refused to talk about it once since they got together. It was too soon, or not safe, and they shouldn't get attached, which the Alpha called bollocks every time to no avail. He had ideas but he wouldn't force it. They didn't need one right away.

Col flushed under his mate's teasing glare before Dom dropped his eyes to go back to his work. He tried to ignore it as he cut the umbilical cord but he could feel his need to push growing. “I was too scared to come up with one. Maybe you can help us?” The omega offered and the teen smiled so bright before trying to control himself.

“Yeah tha’ might be cool.” Blain cleared his throat. They didn't need to know how attached he already felt. He grimaced when the grip on his palm got tighter but it didn't hurt. He trusted them both and knew they'd never cause him pain. It almost enraged him how much he trusted them. He'd not even known them a bloody month, but Dominic saved him and they both took him in. There was just something about them that made him feel safe.

Punk’s little lips screwed up again as if he were going to scream but after a moment he just mouthed at Col’s chest and it took the man a second to realize what he needed. “Oh. Ohhh- I'm supposed to let you find it right?” He asked like the baby could reply but when that whimper started up again he had to help him latch. He knew he'd find his own way eventually but it didn't make sense to let him cry. The first pull at his nipple was a shock to his system, he hadn't even let Dom play with his tits much in weeks. He was too worried about exactly this but now that it was happening he was enraptured. “Look at you. Mouth just like your Daddy too.”

Dom laughed, his eyes going wide but he knew his lover was a mess of oxytocin and other bonding hormones. He was pretty sure he was too because so much of him wanted to suck his mate clean with his mouth. He damn well knew Colson wouldn't like that though, at least not in their current situation. He made himself calm down and focus on the task at hand and the next few minutes were a blur of scents and sounds of pain. Once the afterbirth was free he set it aside in a bag, confused about what exactly he should do with it. Blain made a face but was mostly focused on the other man and he was happy to see his family bonding. He wanted nothing more than to lay with them and snuggle but he had to get them out of this mess.

The Alpha laid a towel over his lover's lower body and pressed a kiss to his son's cheek and his partner's forehead. He got a growl for ruffling Blain's hair but he just grinned back before standing up to take the phone and start looking around. The SWAT team should have been inside by now, the bomb squad at least. The fact that no one was coming in had him scared but as he walked to the front door it swung open. “Well fuck.” He sighed, a little surprised and annoyed at who had entered. When the man raised a gun in his direction he furrowed his brow- they'd had a discussion earlier that day but he didn't think it went that bad.

“You- you're- you?” A wet voice sounded behind him in shock before a cough and he turned to see Megan trying to sit up like every villain in every horror movie he'd ever seen. He knew he'd only shot her in the upper chest but he thought coupled with the stab wound it would have been enough.

The gun in front of him went off and he saw her fall back with a mess of white and gray matter spraying the wall behind her. His nose wrinkled and his ears hurt. Bullets were just so brutal. No artwork. “Head shots always put the bitches down.” The Alpha wanted to tell the newcomer to shut the fuck up, Colson possibly couldn't see them from where he was hidden and he didn't want him finding out yet. It was too much for his system.

Dom would swear he felt the air go cold and even his son's suckling went quiet a moment. His head was a mess of protecthurtcomfort but he couldn't stop this train from going off the rails. “Is that- it can't be.” Col's voice sounded so young and broken. Dom could tell it wasn't the first bad reaction the man might have gotten, his lip was split and he had a black eye. Neither had been there when they met earlier in the day.

He stepped closer to the other and got in his face. It was a warning not to hurt his mate anymore than he had to. He knew deep down this could be good for his partner but healing would take time if he ever fully could. The man smiled at him and nodded as if he was proud, Dom couldn't care less in the moment, not after everything. The only people he looked to for praise were in a nest on the floor and standing outside. “I talked to the feds, they know she was a rogue Alpha and the two of you are mated. She would have been in deep shit for trying to kill them. They'll want to come clear the bombs but with me back they won't fuck with Cols.” The man patted his shoulder before looking over at the others, Colson had let out another broken noise at his words.

Dom watched like it was a car accident he couldn't stop and he just hoped eventually it would turn out alright. He followed close and when they turned around the counter Kells looked like the lost boy he was. With Punk on his chest and Blain next to him looking between everyone so confused, the omega started to cry again though he'd barely stopped. He'd never felt so overwhelmingly happy and broken at the same time.

“What the fuck Travis?”

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 🖤

Oh no a cliffhanger! Don't worry, I have the next one ready. This was just getting so long already. Just one more chapter before part two I think! I hope you enjoy this one because I adore writing them as a little family. They're so cute! Where has Travis been? What will Col do now? Does the public know? We'll find out soon. Hope you're enjoying it! 💣🩸🖤

[irenespring]

House MD- Hunger Games District Two Victor AU: Victor!House and his Mentor

Actual fic! I stir from the depths of writer's block.

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Author Notes:

I'm back for sort of some writing! I found @lorata's world and character building for District Two so comprehensive that sometimes when I get attached to a messed up character, I start applying them to their District Two world. I've written posts about who House MD characters' mentor would be, and I was inspired to actually write some scenes.

This one isn't dialogue heavy (shocking for me) but I did think it was necessary to set up the fusion of the House characters and Hunger Games world. It's primarily hurt/comfort.

The timeline of the character victories is very unrealistic (the gamemakers would never let District Two win this much) but oh well, this is a weird AU/crossover fic. The Hunger Games divergence here is what if Cashmere couldn't face what her life would be after her victory? So the 62nd and 63rd Games would go to Two. Also Enobaria's victory in the 62nd with Nero as a mentor is replaced by Lisa (Cuddy) with Nero as a mentor. Later, a "what if one of the District Two tributes listened to their mentors and killed Finnick in the bloodbath of the 65th" for Wilson's victory. Sorry to Finnick and Enobaria, but this is still technically a House AU.

Also Hunger Games tech is weird. The kind of prosthetic I describe I think fits with Capitol technology.

Lorata's District Two holds that volunteers ditch their last names so as unnatural as it is, House is Gregory, Cuddy will be Lisa, and Wilson will be James. I know, I know.

Many thanks to Lorata for their permission to use their characters. And for their work in general. It's absolutely stellar.

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Trigger warnings: references to child abuse, depictions of violence, ableism, dystopian government horribleness

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The story:

The first connection he makes when arriving at the Victor’s Village is with his mentor, Adessa. Good, obedient Victors bond with their mentors in the Capitol, seeing as the mentor is always there. And saved their life, or something. But Gregory is and has always been dedicated to ignoring tradition and making his own rules. Which is why it is super fucking annoying that he found someone whose rules he listens to. At least he was able to maintain his rage for a couple weeks. That’s almost something.

If he were the type of person to say sappy shit like she’s the parent he never had, or that he would be way more tolerant of authority if they were all like her, well, he would say it. But he’s not, so he doesn’t, end of story. Well, not out loud at least.

But he did hate her at first. On account of waking up in the Capitol hospital missing his leg. 

He remembers the final fight, Cashmere sticking her poisoned knife into his thigh as he barely managed to dodge, knowing it should have struck something vital. He also remembers when he ran her through with one of his short swords, and she leaned in close with blood staining her teeth, looked at his leg, and whispered that at least he’d have something to remember her by. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she had planned for him to win, even though he knows she hated him. That maybe the thought of him being the one to kill her was outweighed by the fear of what victory would mean for a girl from District One. Hurting him was the only way she could make it clear that he hadn’t beaten her. They had fought in training after it became clear she didn’t find him funny. During the almost mandatory pack banter, they played up the kind of sexual tension that only works when built on actual loathing tension. They tried to kill each other in the career pack split. She had been fighting for keeps then, he is certain. But he doesn’t know about the finale. One of the first things he let Adessa help him with was the feeling that she, his enemy, had gifted him his life and victory, only hurting his leg as a token of her (lack of) esteem. 

Hell of a token, though. After the adrenaline of the fight he felt the pain, the agonizing pain, worse than anything he had felt in his eighteen years of enduring torture. But he made it to the hovercraft walking on both his legs. 

He had his leg. He woke up without it.

He hated his mentor for the entire week it took to get back to the district. He endured the doctors talking about the newest prosthetics. He only barely listened to Adessa’s instructions on the proper humility to show to President Snow in order to avoid being summarily executed. He hated it. He hated looking the President in the eye and talking about how happy he was that he would be an ambulatory cripple, and how thankful he was for the Capitol’s mercy. He hated Adessa viciously, blamed her for taking away his choice even now that he had won and should have some fucking control over his life, but he listened because what she said made sense and he wasn’t suicidal.

After they finally got to the Village, it was another week until she was sure he was physically healthy enough for a hike. She took him deep into the forest under the guise of helping the prosthetic map his old neural pathways. When they were far enough she was certain no one or nothing would overhear, she gifted him with the truth.

No coddling, no hiding, no softening the words for the fragile, crippled baby Victor.

She told him what she overheard the doctors talking about. How the muscle in his thigh had died. They could save his leg, but they would have to remove the muscle almost entirely. He wouldn’t be able to walk without a cane, and he would almost certainly be in excruciating pain for the rest of his life. And then one of them had commented on how living with this “challenge��� would be such a show of District Two bravery at its finest. The other had waved the comment off, but did say that it would show District Two that it wasn’t invulnerable. It wasn’t immune from the pain of the Games. Wouldn’t want them to get cocky, now that they’ve won twice in a row.

They didn’t know Adessa had overheard. Five minutes later they “briefed her” on the options. She asked them whether removing the leg entirely would lessen the risk of chronic pain. They admitted that it would, almost entirely, but insisted they could save it. She ordered them, as Gregory’s medical proxy, to remove his leg. They talked up their surgery, she insisted on amputation. They invoked the President’s support of the brilliance of the surgical technique, Adessa had held firm, affecting District Two's distrust of new technology.

She then looked Gregory in the eye and explained to him that yes, he would have to do insufferable press about living as an amputee. But it was nothing compared to the nightmares they’d force him through with a visible limp or mobility aid. The realistic-looking prosthetic, and its robotic technology helping him walk, would lessen the image image the Capitol press wanted. If Adessa had chosen the surgery, they would want to see Gregory's scar in every interview. They would only ever describe him in terms of his cane and gait. They would expect him to be soft and welcoming and unobtrusive— because surely an obviously disabled Victory couldn’t be frightening.

And even that was nothing compared to the inescapable pain they would make him endure with a smile and a humble word. 

Nothing compared to how much danger he would be in if the President decided District Two was getting uppity, and forced Gregory onto morphling to cope with his pain, with the purpose of getting him addicted— thus showing the district one of their symbols was “weak.” How even then he would still be expected to praise his torturers.

She held eye contact and told him that he had been unconscious, and she had used her decades of experience navigating the Capitol to make a judgment call. 

She hadn’t been able to stop her first Victor from falling into the claws of the Capitol, and she wouldn’t let it happen again. 

She wanted him to recover and finally live without the constant threat of physical pain. He had to stop himself from widening his eyes when she told him that he deserved a life with as little pain as possible.

So, she made them cut off his leg, she concluded. It seemed to her the only rational thing to do.

And then she did something the Centre had told him no mentor would do. Because mentors made choices for their Victors and took it as their due. She told him if he still thought she had made the wrong decision, she would apologize. She would make it up to him. He should have had control over his body, she had said with a viciousness he knew couldn’t be just about him.

He had stared back at her, shocked, feeling as though the world had been shaken from its axis. 

It somehow hadn’t occurred to him that she genuinely cared if he suffered. That she wasn’t just blindly exercising her power, as every authority in his life had done before her. She didn’t want him to hurt. She respected him. She talked to him as someone worthy of the facts. He was a person to her, not just a symbol of her prestige or the district’s strength. He was a person, and she wanted to help him.

He scanned her face, looking for the slightest hint of falsehood, he didn’t find it. Her stare was firm and unwavering. It wasn’t warm, but it was honest. 

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to trust her so badly it shocked him. Something in his chest hurt, because he couldn’t shut out the hope that this time it would be different. He should know better, but that knowledge was drowned by the desperate chorus in his mind that maybe, maybe, someone cared.

It allowed him, for one moment, to force himself to take her at her word. To consider the merits of the argument she presented.

In a moment that will definitely have sweeping strings behind in the soapy biopic he’ll make about himself, he realized she had made the right call. 

She made the right call. For him. Even though the Capitol didn’t want her to. She put his needs ahead of the Capitol— he’ll maybe leave that part out of the script.

When he makes the movie, he’ll definitely also leave out how his next thought, that repeated in his mind over and over, was that maybe he’d be safe now. 

Safe. 

He had never, ever, in his life, been safe.

And for some stupid fucking reason this robbed him of his ability to communicate beyond a nod, and produced a shit-ton of tears. He blamed the psych meds then and he blames them now, but still, a shit-ton of tears. So. Many. Fucking. Tears.

But before he could start properly hating himself for showing he wasn’t worthy of her respect with such a weak display, she moved into his line of sight. She carefully placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him time to register it as no threat. 

She didn’t crowd him into a suffocating hug. She didn’t force him to speak. She didn’t patronize him with stupid “comforting” nonsense. 

She let him cry —loudly and messily, like a small child that had never been forced into an ice-bath and thus didn’t know to shut the fuck up before someone heard— and she let him feel her steady, calm presence behind him. If he moved one of his hands to grasp her hand, just for a second, neither of them needed to talk about it. 

When he calmed down, he let his eyes reach hers again, blue meeting brown. And they stayed like that, not speaking but understanding each other, for a long moment. Finally she nodded, and he nodded back, and they exchanged small, barely-there smiles.

“We should continue our walk,” she told him. “The prosthetic does work better the more impulses it receives from the brain. Additionally, it is unseasonably cool today, and therefore we will be less likely to dehydrate on a longer journey, compared to tomorrow’s forecast.”

That made sense. Something making sense grounded him. It let him start thinking clearly. Maybe he’d feel better if his new leg worked more like his old. 

He still didn’t want to look at it, but the prosthetic no longer made him want to rip it off his body and beat everyone in the vicinity, especially Adessa, to death. 

“That’s a good idea.”

They returned to the village’s main hiking path and continued towards the lake. Gregory hated the walk prior to their conversation. The not-quite-connected prosthetic made him slightly unsteady, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that if/when a tribute burst out of the bushes, he wouldn’t be able to fight. He had felt helpless, like his mere presence would bring someone violent and angry to hurt him in his weakened state. When he had looked at Adessa, he wondered if she was judging him, or if she was enjoying having her power over him cemented in such a physical way. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he couldn’t even run. 

After The Talk (as he would forever call it, earning an amused smirk from Adessa) it was different.

He still felt helpless, for fleeting moments. But less so. When he felt the tell-tale squeezing in his chest, he subtly looked over at his mentor, walking a comfortable distance away, but still next to him. This time looking at her was strangely comforting.

It took him a while to place the not-unpleasant feeling that had settled across his mind: he felt less alone. 

He felt like maybe he really did have someone that would protect him.

He’s the messed up kind of person that needed to win the damn Hunger Games to get anything good in his life. But at least it worked. 

He and his mentor still walk to the lake often, and she keeps him safe.

[darlingmissmoth]

Hi, my name is Moth and, uh, with “encouragement” from @babacontainsmultitudes (aka: “you should do it” and I went “yeah okay”) I have decided to do… A little (not a little) rambling about the kiddads (mostly Twin Focused, but still) cause I have many thoughts and feelings, most of which I tend to keep hidden but I have a blog and I’m making that everyone’s issue.

This probably won’t be totally coherent because my thoughts like to jump from point to point erratically so I’ll try to organize to the best of my ability? But there’s a good chance I’ll be all over the place! And it’s probably going to be… Very Fucking Long as a warning lmao

Anyway, uh, stuff under the read more :)

I’ve seen a lot of wild takes about the kiddads and their actions, and the general view on Sparrow is… Very Negative, from what I’ve gathered. I’ve seen a lot more positive as of late, but I still see a lot of hate. Which I get! If you do a skim of all he’s done, it isn’t a great picture. Telling your kid you aren’t proud of them, training your kids from a young age to kill things, his anger and upset, it isn’t good.

Then, of course, there’s Lark who tends to excuse Sparrow’s actions or try to smooth them over, it appears he’s the main one who did Hero’s training, and his anger is rough as well.

Then we have Grant and Nicky, one of whom is Overbearing, the other Distant.

All in all, the kiddads are, well… Not Great Parents to put it lightly.

But I think a lot of people tend to view all their actions through the lives of their own lives or what is “rational”, totally forgetting that the circumstances around the teen’s raising, around the kiddad’s lives, are not rational.

At the age of 11, all of them got kidnapped by their grandparents! And sold into slavery! They weren’t sure if they’d see their parents again! And while most of them took it in pretty good stride, they were 11 and most likely didn’t see the inherent danger of the situations they were in until they all got spirited away to Castle Ravenloft, where they had to deal with their grandparents and, no doubt, the abuse they dealt.

Both Nicky and Lark went through Real Life Or Death Experiences (not to say the other kids didn’t, but they were the only ones we see in S1 who got anywhere near actually dying) - and of them, Lark was the only one who felt death. It may have been a fake body, but that doesn’t change the fact that he actually felt himself die.

Grant had to kill something in such a horrible and gruesome way that we actively saw the way it changed his life. He got fucked up from it! Really badly. Mans is numb and struggling to feel anything which, of course, leads to a lot of self hate and self destructive habits.

And then, after all of this, Lark was manipulated by one of their abusers to stab his father and release The Doodler, which he didn’t fully understand the consequences of because, again, he’s 11. He was A CHILD.

Now he’s saddled with the knowledge he ended the world. He doomed his family, his friends, all because of an impulsive decision that he was manipulated into doing, yet he isn’t aware it was manipulation. He thinks it was just… Him. He chose to do it.

And now he, and all his friends, are wandering around trying to figure out how to stop this World Ending Creature that used to live in his family’s blood and it all seems terribly hopeless. But they keep trying. Because what else can you do? What is your other option? And he’s given a prophecy that says that his (or his twin’s) first born is the Only Thing that can stop said World Ending Creature. At the age of, like, 15.

Sparrow, who feels just as guilty for it, takes this onto his shoulders because he probably doesn’t want that tacked onto his brother’s conscious as well. Raising a kid just to be a tool because it’s either that or they continue to let this creature that he and his twin unleashed.

What were their other options? What other choices did they have? Let the world - the worlds - continue to die? They had to do something, and the only thing that would have worked - apparently - is to have this kid.

Meanwhile, Grant gets a kid and they’re in the fucking apocalypse, so of course he’s going to shelter his kid. He remembers what happened to him when he was put under extreme stress and in a life or death situation and he doesn’t want that for his baby. He loves Lincoln so much, loves his husband so much. Was it right to totally isolate him? No! Probably not! But he was terrified of the world, and he had every right to be.

A lot of people judge the kiddads under the lenses of our current world, but they need to remember that isn’t the setting. That isn’t their world. Maybe when they were children, but not now. Not when we see the teens.

Their world is a dying one, it’s scary, it’s dangerous. They did the best with the trauma they were saddled with, in a world that they were the cause of and could die in every single day. Do you think you could do better? Truly?

They did the best in the situations they were in, and for Grant, maybe he shouldn’t have had a kid. But he did! His husband wanted one and they were given one and they were small and innocent and sweet and Grant was smitten instantly. And people seem to forget he was a good dad! Lincoln turned out good! He’s smart and kind and gentle. He loved his dads so fucking much and didn’t realize anything was wrong until he was shoved into a position he shouldn’t have been in.

Grant raised him well. He raised him with love and adoration and did his best.

Sparrow and Lark did, too. They love their kids! No one can deny that! Sparrow and Lark love their kids. But it’s a dangerous world, and they knew at least one of their kids is the only hope humanity has. They had to make sure she could defend herself, she could take it down when the time came.

People also point at the homecoming scene for Sparrow and Lark and I agree that it wasn’t good. They fucked up. But it’s also made so, so clear that Sparrow loves Normal deeply. He adores his son. But it’s also canon that Normal reminds Sparrow of his younger self, who Sparrow is not proud of, and he desperately wanted better for his son. And Normal, had Sparrow and Lark not manifested, would have never known his dad wasn’t proud of him.

Which means Sparrow never let that show! Sometimes parents aren’t proud of their kid’s decisions, that’s just the long and short of it. And that should be okay. It should be okay to not agree with something your child does. But the important thing is that you don’t show it. And Sparrow NEVER DID. He NEVER ONCE showed Normal that he wasn’t proud. He showed love first and foremost always.

Which is why it came as a shock when he revealed otherwise. So he was doing good! He was a good parent!

Did they fumble? Yes. I’m not saying that any of them are totally blameless. They messed up a lot. They should have made better decisions. But they were also horribly traumatized, lost their innocence of childhood at the age of 11, and had to grow up in a doomed world with guilt on their shoulders and the fate of the world in their hands.

All of this to say that they are complex. They are human. At the core of this sillyfunny podcast, that is something that remains consistent. These aren’t characters on a traditional Hero’s Journey. They are regular people thrust into impossible situations that have to figure out how to cope with it on their feet. They’re flawed, they make bad decisions, and that is the point. They aren’t meant to be perfect or always know what to do. All of them are shades of gray. None of them are truly evil or truly good because no person is.

They’ll fuck up. They’ll make bad decisions spurred on by guilty consciouses or emotions. Some decisions won’t be rational because humans aren’t. We are made up of emotion and memory and personal values, and we make our decisions based around those things.

They aren’t perfect. They aren’t meant to be. They are complex and they are beautiful for that.

I’m sure there’s more I could say, but this is long enough as is, uh. If you want to hear more I guess either dm me or shoot me an ask about specific characters idk

Thanks for reading

[anarchywoofwoof]

It's funny about the homeschooling thing: I had friends who were homeschooled and I cannot express how badly many of us wish our parents had the means to do so.

I was sick so often (bad immune system, endometriosis before they had a term for it) we had to go to court to defend ourselves for "truancy." I had straight A's. When I was there, I swept the tests. But they want you there in person, or else.

To not have had to wait in the cold or blazing heat without gear because poor and our parents had to be at work at 6am......

I know there are plenty of parents not cut out for it or who weren't trained and would give a subpar education, but wouldn't it be great if as humans we had so much time on our hands that we COULD?

Like every adult had so much time they could educate themselves on at least one or two subjects until a little human comes around and then Get Excited to tell them!! About the thing they learned!! Some adults really like space, some love crochet or woodworking - to see all your teachers (adults in your community) passionate about subjects and to have the freedom to express your own like or dislike or take breaks when you need to without judgement? To work at your own pace?? God I want for that future. Also tech can cut down on infections/flu and illness spreading because idiot schools INSIST on keeping 100's of students locked into tiny rooms with poor ventilation. Our school wouldn't let us open the windows during the heat of summer. Because reasons?? Note, we didn't have air conditioning.

thanks for sharing this.

so here's the thing: although i was homeschooled (really, more "no schooled" than anything), i was able to teach myself on the internet. when i was growing up, the internet was just really taking off (jesus christ i feel old saying that) and it enabled me to really just kind of teach myself whatever i wanted. so as i grew older, i grew more resourceful, more digitally literate and crafted my own education.

now the downside to this is that if you want to go into a highly-skilled field or something like science, mathematics, etc. that kind of thing is hard to pull off in a home setting.

for instance, i had absolutely no science "classes" during my school life because the amount of equipment and knowledge needed is far surpassed what my truck driver father and leasing agent mother could provide

keep in mind, i didn't have tutors. i didn't have in-house teachers. it was my fucking dad teaching me between his time working from 3 PM to 1 AM and my mom checking my homework when she remembered and after she got home from work at 5 PM. most days, i didn't have "school." i slept in and did whatever i wanted throughout the rest of the day. luckily, i was addicted to knowledge regardless, so it all worked out for me.

i'm not opposed to the idea of homeschooling, i should stress this. i won't necessarily go to the extremes of calling it child abuse or something like that. but i do think it's wise to remember that a school has entire staff dedicated to teaching your child and that perhaps it takes some hubris to assume you can fulfill your kids learning needs the same way that a staff of (hopefully) trained professionals can.

i think homeschooling is more possible than ever in the current digital world that we occupy. but my parents definitely didn't have the time, money, patience or any other of the valuable resources that you need to teach a kid from 1st grade to their senior year of high school. especially in the late 90's, early 00's, which is when i grew up.

and the problem is often that most parents don't actually have these resources, but still think that they're more than capable of meeting all of those needs that i mentioned before. unfortunately, this ends up hurting their kid the most when they go out into the world with absolutely no clue how to function in it socially.

[baelonthebrave]

'til queendom come, ch. 9

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,310

ch. 9, dohaerās: all men must die. all men must serve.

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: all kudos, comments, bookmarks, reblogs, etc. are very much appreciated and adored! I'm having a lot of mixed feelings about this chapter and about being so close to the end, so I really hope you all enjoy ❤️

In the early hours of the next day, Sena awoke in an unfamiliar bed. The silky sheets below her cheek had a faintly masculine scent, there was white blonde hair splayed on the pillow and there was a wiry arm wrapped around her belly. A tall, lean, naked man was pressed to her back, from shoulder to hip to knee and she was gloriously warm. She leaned back into Aemond’s embrace, sighing happily and laying her arm over the one he had wrapped around her middle. There was a sleepy, gruff sound behind her and she smiled, but when she shifted, she felt something-

Yes. Aemond was sleepily pressing his half-hard cock against the split of her arse. “Good morning, my Prince,” she breathed out a small laugh, and he stirred behind her, still clearly half asleep.

“Mm?” He murmured, shifting up onto an elbow and rubbing at his bare face with a hand. Was this how beautiful he was when he woke? Foggy, a little grumpy, his hair a mess? His eyelids droopily concealed his pretty eyes, one purple, one blue.

She grinned, looking over her shoulder at him and moved her hips a little. “Don’t stop, you seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then pulled up the sheet to look. “Fuck,” he groaned, his cheeks colouring as he laid down behind her, flat on his back. “Sorry,” he grumbled, shutting his eyes in concentration as if he was trying to banish his morning glory.

“Don’t say sorry,” she said in disbelief as she rolled over to face him. “I think that was the best wakeup call I have ever had.”

He peeked open his lavender eye and smiled at her sleepily. He looked so sweet and carefree like this that it made her heart ache. “Yeah?” He asked, clearly more than a little pleased at her open desire. 

“Yes,” Sena repeated. She brushed a few tangled strands from his cheek and leaned down to kiss him softly. A small sound came from his throat and he came up onto his side to reel her in, deepening the kiss. Only when she could feel his heart thrumming against her did she break away, despite the way he chased her lips with his own. “You know, you worked quite hard last night. Maybe you deserve a lazy morning?” She asked, pushing at his shoulder to get him down onto his back and slipping one knee over his slim waist.

“Gods,” he cursed as she sat up on him, the bedsheet falling to pool around her hips. She saw his eye roving her body, saw the way her nipples hardened in the distinct chill of the room and she surreptitiously used her upper arms to push her breasts together some. “Are you sure you were a maiden ’til last night? You behave as though you were trained in a Lysene pillow house.”

She laughed and canted her hips back, his hardening cock nudging open her folds and spreading her wetness. “Just enjoying the freedom to take what I have wanted for many years, my Prince. And I am inexperienced but what I lack for in skill I can make up for in enthusiasm. You’ll just have to let me practice on you.” She gave her hips an experimental roll and it felt so lovely she gasped aloud.

“Mhm- how could I ever say no to that?” He said with a groan and reached up to pinch a nipple sharply between his thumb and forefinger, making her whine. “I expect you to practice on me until you achieve perfection, my Lady-”

All of a sudden, there was a sharp knock at the door and Sena jumped. Aemond pulled her sharply down onto the bed and threw the sheet up over her, blocking her from view with his own body. “Hope you’re decent-“ came a female voice.

“Alys,” Aemond barked at the woman who had just burst into the room.

“Oh, not decent at all, it seems. Hello, Lady Visenya,” she said and laughed a high pitched laugh. Aemond was rapidly softening against Sena’s thigh and pushed himself off of her with a growl, reaching for his eyepatch on the bedside table. “I’ll have the Maester bring moon tea then, yes? And maybe something for the… love bites,” Alys said with a smirk, eyeing Sena’s neck.

“Who do you think you are? Waltzing into my rooms like you own the place?” He snapped.

Sena sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her body, and kneaded her brow with more exasperation than embarrassment. They certainly had an odd dynamic, these two. Alys smirked at her and winked. “I don’t know, I thought I was a Lady of House Targaryen last night. It’s a comfy bed you’ve given her, I slept like a babe. Much nicer than my own. Very transparent favouritism.”

Aemond made a frustrated grunt and grabbed a pair of breeches from the floor, pulling them up over his hips. He got out from under the covers and went to snatch his morning letters from Alys. Sena was disappointed to only get a brief glance of his lithe body and pert arse before it was covered again. She made a small huffing sound and threw herself back down in bed.

Aemond shot her an exasperated look. “Don’t you mutiny at me too. You two make for a dangerous combination.”

“Someone’s got to pull at your pigtails and keep you humble, oh noble Prince Regent,” Alys said, and Sena chuckled even as Aemond glowered. She could not bring herself to be annoyed at the older woman. She was the only reason Sena was lying in this bed in the first place.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Sena said, and noted the way Alys kept glancing at the swell of her breasts, the pebbling of her nipples under the thin sheet in the cool air. A blush coloured Sena’s cheeks but she did her best not to preen at the attention, that would be unbecoming. “But is there a reason you’re here? Or were you just being nosy?”

Alys laughed darkly. “Nothing to be nosy about, my lady. You two were making enough racket that half the keep knows. Awfully echoey, this damnable castle.” Sena flushed deeply at that, and Aemond raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. “But if you must know, your brother is here, Prince Aemond.” 

Alys never looked away from Sena to the Prince, though, and Aemond noticed rather angrily. “Her eyes are further up, Alys,” he snapped at her. “Which brother?”

Alys finally looked away from Sena to roll her eyes at the Prince. “The one you sent a raven for in the middle of the night asking he come at once,” she said impatiently.

A grin broke over Sena’s features at that. “Daeron,” she said. “He’s truly here?”

“He is. All six feet of boyish good looks and charming smiles,” Alys said with a wink, and Aemond looked faintly irritated. She supposed it had been awhile since he’d had two women to gang up on him like this.

Sena pulled the bedsheet with her to get out of bed, holding it around her frame as a makeshift gown. “Well, we must get ready and go greet him then.”

Aemond and Alys’s eyes both caught on her hips, her breasts, the wild tangle of her hair. “My love,” Aemond huffed. “Can you at least wait until Alys has left to get changed-“

“You’ll tell her to do no such thing,” Alys Rivers said with a smirk, and Sena somehow turned a deeper shade of red. She looked around for her borrowed dress, then grimaced when she saw the rended remains of the garment on the floor. Alys followed her gaze and scowled. “Animal,” she said, glaring at the Prince. “I guess I should bring a dress and undergarments up for the Lady then?”

“You can leave them at the door and knock to let me know they’re there, nothing more. I can help her dress,” he said with a scowl.

“Awfully jealous, aren’t we? Is that why you’ve made your colour green?” Alys asked, shooting him a smirk. “Very well, then. I’ll bring clothes and see to it that Prince Daeron is comfortable while he waits.” With a nod to her employer and a wink to Sena, she swept from the room before Aemond could bark any more orders at her.

Sena giggled as the door clicked shut and she came to stand before Aemond. She let go of her grip on sheet so she could trace her fingers over his firm pectorals, his narrow waist, the trail of white hair on his belly. He caught her hands in his and pressed their joined hands to the thrumming space over his heart, his eyes hungrily taking in the strength of her shoulders, the curve of her hips, the softness of her tummy. “You know, she only does that because she knows it will get a reaction from you,” Sena told him softly. “She torments you, like your older brother.”

He cradled her face in his hands. “And like my older brother, if anything about you ever goes beyond jests, she will answer for it.”

“I only entertain her because I like seeing how it riles you,” she said with a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers. “You’re handsome all the time, but you’re so pretty when you’re grumpy. Your nose scrunches up like this,” she said, showing him an exaggerated version of the gesture.

He smirked, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “Or maybe you’re just hoping I’ll get angry enough to be rough with you, like you prefer.”

She smiled coyly. “Partly that, too.” His smile faltered for a second and she turned her head to kiss his palm in an attempt to soothe him. “What is it, Aemond? Tell me.”

“You don’t…” he sighed, considering his words, “regret last night? It was something of a point of no return, after all. As odious as it may be to consider you worth any less now… I have ruined you for any marriage you may have wished to make, Sena.”

“My maidenhead was mine to give. Freely, as I saw fit,” she murmured into his palm. She reached up to push his eyepatch up a little, revealing his injury again. How she was beginning to despise the patch and every moment of his true face that it took from her. “And there is only one man I would have given it to, same as there is only one man who will ever have my hand in marriage.”

He brought a hand up to cradle hers as she held his cheek, brushed at the lower end of his scar. He bowed his head and kissed her with a sigh.

They broke apart and she watched his eyes carefully, one purple, one blue. “Aemond… forgive me for prying into something you did not tell me yourself, but… how was it for you?” She asked. He looked a little confused. “It’s just, I know… your first experience with a woman was likely not a good one-“

Aemond’s jaw tightened and he laced their fingers together, huffing out a small breath. “They are not even the same thing in my mind, Sena,” he said. “One was something I did because I was told to, to appease Aegon, and because I could not have held off much longer without raising questions. The other was something I did because I wanted to, with someone I adore. I felt none of that fear with you last night. If anything, I felt brave. Finally giving you what you have asked for but I was too scared to give. Finally taking what I wanted, our family be damned.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Good. You know you can talk to me about it though, right?” She asked. “I know I did not raise it in the most sensitive way the first time, and in truth you likely never wanted me to know. But I would never judge, would never be squeamish or embarrassed or offended. I would just listen, listen to anything you wanted to tell me.”

He smiled and kissed her brow. “I do not deserve you.”

She reached up and made him look at her, holding his jaw steady. “Never say such a thing again, please. You deserve love just by your existence and it is the greatest privilege of my life to be one of many to give it to you.” He met her eyes a little uncertainly for a moment, then gave her a little nod, and that was enough.

Once Alys had delivered her clothes with a knock, they hurriedly helped each other dress. Sena secured half of Aemond’s hair up out of his face, then he laced her into her dress, hands lingering on her hips for a scant second. She did her best to tame her wild bed hair with the water from the basin, but eventually gave up. “C’mere,” Aemond murmured, and pulled a black hair ribbon from a box in his dresser.

She stood with her back to him and he gently gathered her curls up into a knot, smoothing them as best he could and securing them with a tight bow. He pressed a kiss to her bare neck and she shivered. 

Aemond hummed and grabbed a high-collared doublet from his things. “Best put that on. Don’t know if we need my little brother seeing your neck like that.” He helped her secure the doublet over her dress. It was a welcome extra layer - Harrenhal was so draughty - and it smelled like the rosemary oil he ran through his hair, and the brimstone scent of Vhagar. “I’ll be more careful next time. Mark you somewhere a little less… obvious.”

She smiled and pulled him in by his sword belt. “I don’t want you to be careful with me,” she said and pressed a kiss to his lips. He hummed into her lips. “But yes, I don’t see how it would be advantageous to make our bedroom activities the talk of the court.”

“Stop talking to me about bedroom activities right before we are to go greet my brother, my lady,” he chided, but laced his fingers through hers as he pulled them from the room.

They descended to the great hall. This room had once held the Great Council of 101 AC, somewhat kickstarting all of this mess, Sena thought grimly. In the shadowy corner of the room, she could see Lord Corlys fighting for the rights of his lady wife and their children. In the other, her father, as young as she was now, championing his brother as he would for the rest of King Viserys’s days. The blonde-haired young man in the centre of the room could have been her father from the back, truthfully, but when he spun on his heel at the sound of their approach, it was clear that his face was too kind to ever belong to Prince Daemon.

The grin on Daeron’s face as he took them in, approaching hand-in-hand, made Sena’s heart skip a beat. He was so grown, seven-and-ten now, dressed in battle-proven armour, standing nearly as tall as his brother. His was a soft and sweet beauty - more like Helaena than Aemond’s angular, striking features - and he approached his elder brother with a grin, pulling him into his strong arms with an oof from the Prince Regent. “Aemond,” Daeron sighed.

Aemond looked stiff for a second, then seemed to soften in Daeron’s embrace, clapping him on the back. “Daeron.” He was smiling.

Daeron pulled back and turned to Sena, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Come here,” she said with a smile and held her arms wide. Daeron stepped into her embrace gratefully and smacked a kiss on both of her cheeks. 

“My fierce and beautiful cousin,” he said. “It’s been far too many years. I see you’re a woman, now.”

Sena blushed a little at that, still feeling the ache in her hips with every step she took, but knew he could not possibly mean it in the way it sounded. Over Daeron’s shoulder, she watched Aemond smirk, looking a little proud of himself but averting his gaze so as not to catch her ire. “And you’re a man grown,” she said to Daeron, pulling back and brushing a lock of silver-blonde hair behind his ear. “What have they been feeding you in Oldtown? Stop growing!”

He laughed and Aemond smiled at them, taking in the sight of his brother and his lover embracing each other with a soft look in his eye. It seemed he was as relieved as she was, that they’d finally found a way to end all of this. “You don’t seem surprised to see the Lady Visenya out of her cell and at my side, brother,” he said with a lilting smirk.

Daeron returned the smirk and gave his elder brother a knowing look. “I knew that even you would see past your anger and eventually come to your senses, Aemond,” he said. He turned back to Sena. “I can only apologise for him, cousin. It seems Helaena and I did not leave many redeeming qualities for our brothers to fight over when we were born.”

“I have forgiven him,” Sena said, then tilted her head, considering, “for the most part, anyway.” Daeron laughed at that and Aemond raised an eyebrow. Sena linked one arm through each of the brothers’s and pulled both men over to the high table, where Alys had left water and food. If Daeron had ridden through the night, he must be famished. “Enough about us, though. Tell me about you! How have you been?”

Daeron went to pull out her chair for her, but Aemond batted his hands away and did it for her instead. Sena shook her head and smiled at her lover. “I have been well, Sena. Very well. Honestly, I think growing up away from the Red Keep has been my saving grace. The Gods only know what I would have turned out like if I had been raised in the grim plotting and intrigue of my father’s court.” She pushed the plate of food before him and smiled as he started to pick at it ravenously.

Aemond raised an eyebrow at Daeron from her other side. “Probably more like me,” he said darkly.

Sena reached out to take him by the hand and Daeron shook his head. “And how lucky I would have been, if that were the case. You have grown into a good man despite your childhood, brother. You are a triumph. Never forget it, no matter how much we tease you. We only do it to keep you humble.”

A light pink blush rose in Aemond’s cheeks, wonderfully endearing, and he avoided both their loving gazes as he sipped at his water. Sena turned the conversation back to Daeron in an attempt to lift some of the unwanted attention off of Aemond. “Well, what else do you have to tell me of your exploits? A dashing man like you, you must have every maiden in Oldtown throwing themselves in your path.” Aemond sputtered on his water and Daeron dipped his head, smiling. Sena looked at the two brothers, suddenly aware she was missing something. “What?”

“Sorry, love,” Aemond said, clearing his throat and giving her thigh a squeeze. “You have missed a lot, being away on Dragonstone all those years.” She gave him an imploring look and he tilted his head, smiling at her. “No doubt Daeron has every maiden in Oldtown swooning over him but my little brother prefers the company of dashing squires to blushing maidens.”

Sena raised her eyebrows, turning on Daeron, who was blushing a little. “I- why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, rounding on Aemond and landing a light slap on his upper arm.

Her lover chuckled. “Really, Sena, I did not mean to omit it, I’ve just… had a lot on my mind these last few years.”

She guessed she could understand that. She turned back to Daeron who was still avoiding her eye. Bless his soul, he was nervous to see her reaction. “It’s the training yard, isn’t it?” She asked with a coy grin, hoping to set him at ease. “Seeing them all hot and bothered in their leathers, swinging their big swords-“

Relieved, Daeron was laughing and Aemond let out an undignified sound. “And who have you been looking at, hot and bothered?” He demanded, nostrils flaring with irritation.

Sena and Daeron fell on each other, laughing at the elder brother’s obliviousness. “Stop. Stop right now,” Daeron choked out. “I really don’t need to hear a recount of you ogling my own brother in his training leathers, Sena.” That caused Aemond to turn red, and the other two only laughed harder.

“Honestly,” Sena said, clutching at her stomach. “I can’t believe no one told me! Last to know everything, as per usual. Does your mother know?”

Daeron grimaced. “Yes, but she pretends she does not,” he said. That explained his nervousness at her reaction, then. “But don’t let it put you off making whatever deal for me you can. I’ll marry whoever you need me to, if it will end the bloodshed and bring some peace to our family.”

So Aemond had told him, then, why they were here? Or he had guessed as much. “Thank you,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hands. Come to think of it, there was a Baratheon maid who would soon need appeasing. “We will do whatever we can, though. To avoid that.”

Daeron shrugged. “Love matches are rare in our walk of life,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget it, just because you two have been stupidly lucky. Besides, if I could wed a woman like you or my sister, I would be the luckiest man alive to call her my friend and wife.”

Sena smiled at him. “You’re a flatterer,” she said.

He shrugged and grinned. “Enough about me. I’m guessing I’m here because you two have hatched some plan to save all our mortal souls?”

It was an easy enough plan to explain to him and Daeron liked it. Especially the part about her landing Vermithor in the Eyrie and demanding fealty. He smirked at that. “And if this works and we can get our sister to the negotiations, what then?”

Sena looked at Aemond and Aemond looked back at her. “We haven’t exactly decided on that part,” she said with a wince. She had been thinking about this too, during all those days staring out of windows during captivity. “I think Aegon is the only option for the throne.” Aemond and Daeron threw her horrified looks and she quickly corrected herself. “My brother, not yours. I think we need to betroth him to Jaehaera, unite Rhaenyra and Aegon the Elder’s claims.”

The expression on Daeron’s face softened a little at that, but he still looked uneasy. “He’s a little boy, Sena. Do we really need a regency right now?” Aemond looked equally uneasy at the prospect.

Sena held up her hands. “We have no other options,” she said. “Your family will not accept Rhaenyra or even Joffrey on the throne, and my family will never bow to Aegon, wherever he is right now. Anyone else is too far down the order of succession. Neither of you two can be Kings, you have no impartiality in this war, Rhaenyra would never bow to you.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow. “Not to be a pig, but following previous precedents of men succeeding before women, Aemond is Aegon’s heir, not Jaehaera.”

Sena glowered at Daeron, who held his hands up in resignation. Aemond smirked at his brother’s quick surrender. He turned his eye on Sena. “We are all willing to make sacrifices to end this, my lady. You are forsaking your family by even discussing this. Daeron has consented to marrying whom he must. It only seems right that I lay aside my claim to the throne, for the greater good of the family.”

Sena reached across the gap between them and took his hand in her’s, twining their fingers together. “And we will find a way to repay you,” she said.

He smiled and shook his head softly. “I will consider the debt repaid in full when you become my wife.”

Sena’s heart leapt in her chest and she could not help herself, reaching across the distance between them and pulling him in for a kiss. Aemond melted into her, dragging his fingers along her jaw and sighed happily.

“So we’re trying to make my breakfast reappear, are we?” Daeron questioned behind them.

Aemond growled a sharp “Fuck off,” at his brother, earning him a burst of laughter, and pulled Sena back in for another kiss.

-----

On her own, Sena took in the sight of the Vale from far above. Her birthplace, the place she had spent her early years. It hurt her to think she had such little true memory of it, next to no connection to her mother. The first place she remembered being happy, the first place she remembered feeling loved was King’s Landing.

Vermithor had not been too happy to see her, when she arrived at the shores of the God’s Eye with Aemond. But he had been cowed by Vhagar, on his best behaviour, and Aemond had well warned him. “Ōdrikagon zirȳla rȳ aōha zūgagon,” he had told the great bronze beast, resting a hand on his maw. Hurt her at your peril. Vhagar rumbled low in her chest to second the warning.

Aemond had kissed Sena sweetly. “You look beautiful,” he said, “like a Conqueror.”

She smiled. He had returned her armour and sword to her, but before they had left, she had made a small request of Harrenhal’s blacksmith. The crimson dragon of her house had been scraped from the inky dark breastplate and replaced with an inlay of the same three-headed dragon, this time wrought in bronze. She would have to thank Aegon for naming her so when they finally found him. It was fitting, she thought, her father’s sigil wrought in her mother’s colours, but still uniquely hers. “Thank you, my love,” she said. “I just hope Lady Jeyne thinks so, as well.”

He grimaced. “I would feel better about this if I was coming with you.”

She kissed him again. For the sake of thoroughness. “The Arryns are no friends of yours. Besides, you need to marshal your armies, head for King’s Landing with Daeron and Ser Criston.”

He gripped her by the elbows, pulling her close. “Meet me there, please.”

She nodded. “With a fleet.”

“I don’t care if you bring Nymeria’s fleet of ten thousand ships or a fishing boat, just… be there,” he said. Kissed her once more for good measure.

Now, she circled low over the Eyrie. With Joffrey brought south to King’s Landing as the new Prince of Dragonstone, the Eyrie was not defended by dragons save for Rhaena’s hatchling, Morning. So despite the distant shouting and scurrying of soldiers below, there was no resistance when Vermithor landed on the castle walls that boxed in the courtyard. Sena descended from dragonback with what grace she could muster. “Kirimvose, raqiros,” she said, laying one hand on Vermithor’s vast neck. Thank you, friend. His resulting whicker was not entirely contemptuous. She would take it as progress.

The lords and ladies of Lady Jeyne’s court were rushing into the courtyard as she descended from the wall, pulling her dragonhide gloves from her hands with her teeth. Aemond had knotted one of his own hair ribbons into her hair, holding half of it up from her face, and she wished he was here, but she steeled herself and turned to face the belligerent courtiers. “My lords and ladies,” she greeted, projecting her voice loud and clear. Like Queen Alicent would, like Queen Rhaenyra would, like Princess Rhaenys would. She scanned the assembling crowd for familiar heraldry. Corbray, Redfort, Baelish… Royce. She met eyes with the man who must be some relation of hers and inclined her head.

“What is the meaning of this?” A woman asked sharply, rushing through the crowd who quickly split for her. “Make yourself known, dragonrider. Now.”

Sena inclined her head, taking in the soaring falcon sigil on the shields of the guards who rushed behind her. “Lady Arryn, it is an honour for you to host me.”

“You were not invited,” the woman hissed. “I won’t ask again. Make yourself known, girl.”

“I-“ Sena opened her mouth.

“Sena?”

Sena’s head whipped towards the left entrance to the courtyard and her breath caught in her throat. “Rhaena.”

They stood, staring at each other for a second. Rhaena looked so beautiful, grown and womanly in her gown, with her hair combed out and loose, a beautiful white halo. Then, Rhaena could take it no longer, and rushed forward into her arms.

Sena caught her with an oof, suddenly glad she was wearing steel plate armour, and pulled her baby sister close. “Oh Rhaena,” she said, and pressed a kiss to her head.

Rhaena pulled back, holding her by the arms. “Look at you! My warrior sister,” she said, taking in her armour. “How? How are you here?”

Lady Jeyne Arryn cleared her throat behind them, and Sena turned to see most of the court staring at her. Rhaena kept a firm grip of her hand. “Prince Daemon’s other daughter, then, I take it?”

Sena bowed at her waist. Curtseys did not look so good without skirts, she had learned. “Visenya of House Targaryen, my lady. Daughter of Prince Daemon… and Lady Rhea Royce.”

There was a slight intake of breath around her and Lady Jeyne’s countenance paled. Yes, that one, Sena thought grimly. The one you disinherited.

Lady Jeyne drew a steadying breath. “I would invite you to take audience in my hall, but I do not think your friend would fit,” she eyed Vermithor warily. “Forgive the harshness of my words. House Arryn does not have a good history of dragonriders descending from the sky upon us. Especially not women named Visenya.”

Sena repressed a small smile. “Forgive me, my lady. I would normally never assume to turn up unannounced, but it was urgent.”

Lady Jeyne nodded. “These are dark times indeed,” she said. “If it is urgent, have at it. But know that House Arryn is unfaltering in its commitment to our rightful queen, and we extend our deepest sympathies at the loss of Prince Jacaerys.”

Sena gave her a grateful nod but drew a bracing breath nevertheless. “Truthfully, I am not here on Queen Rhaenyra’s business, my lady. But rather… business of the realm.”

“Have out with it, my lady. We will hear what you have to say.”

Sena gritted her teeth. “We- members of my House and I… have grown tired of this war. We mean to sue for peace.” 

There was a wave of titters around her, and Rhaena gripped her hand tighter. “You mean to disobey your queen?” Lady Jeyne asked, shocked.

“I mean to negotiate with my queen,” Sena corrected. “As we speak, the armies of Aegon II are approaching King’s Landing to lay siege. The plan is to sue for peace. No more bloodshed, no more hunger, no more tyranny.”

Lady Jeyne raised her eyebrows. “So it is the Usurper you have jumped into bed with, my lady?”

Sena winced. This was not going how she had imagined it in her head. She turned to her sister. “Rhaena,” she said. “Help me. Aemond, Daeron and I… we are trying to put an end to this. We have a plan. No one else has to die, sister. Not Baela or Joffrey or Aegon. No more orphans, no more widows.”

Rhaena searched her eyes with her own identical violet ones, looking conflicted. “Sena,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “This is treason, turning against the Queen. You are talking of treason.”

“Not against,” Sena insisted, squeezing her hand. “I am not turning against anyone. This war has been black and green, Rhaenyra and Aegon - what if it doesn’t have to be that way? What if there is a third way-“

“You may have chosen the incorrect audience, my lady,” Lady Jeyne broke in. “The Vale of Arryn remains relatively untouched by war. We are happy to keep supporting the Queen from a distance.”

Sena bit her lip, and turned to the assembled lords and ladies. “Lord Waxley’s lands are not,” she said loudly, fixing eye contact with a man whose doublet was emblazoned with candles burning on a grey field. “We lost a dragon at Rook’s Rest, my lord. I hear King Aegon’s Sunfyre still prowls the fields, flightless. I bet you could see it happen from the top of your tower.” She turned her head again. “Lord Grafton! How does Gulltown fair, with the Narrow Sea beset on all sides by war galleys, pirates, the Triarchy? Is food and wine still flowing as freely as before? Has it started to empty your pockets? Even you, Lady Arryn. My sister’s dragon is, what, the size of a cat at this point? Today, it was a friend who descended from the sky upon you. Tomorrow, it might not be. I know my father for one does not have kind things to say of you-“

“All the more reason not to anger him, my lady.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “My father is a tyrant. He will find cause to be angry, whether you give it to him or not. He humiliated my lady mother, dragged House Royce’s name through the dirt, insulted your authority and now you bow down to him and avoid angering him? Whatever happened to as high as honour?”

Lady Jeyne turned a bright shade of red at that, and Rhaena gripped her hand, and Sena knew she had her. “Interesting for the daughter of a slain woman and her murderer to talk of honour,” she bit out, and the lords and ladies around her drew breath.

Sena clenched her jaw. She had always known it. Deep down. “My honour does not come from my name or the people who brought me into this world, my lady. My honour comes from my love - for this land, for its people, for my family. My honour comes from what I am willing to give up to ensure the safety of the people I care about and the people I am responsible for protecting.”

“You and I both, Lady Visenya. The honour of House Arryn is not just words, it is action,” Lady Jeyne bit out.

Sena nodded. “You recall, don’t you? What I had taken from me? When Lady Rhea died, I lost a mother, yes. But I also lost the lands and title I was born to. I lost Runestone. And now I ride the second-largest living dragon in the world and I have everything I could need to take it back. Armies, allies, you name it.”

Rhaena was staring at her, wide eyed. “For a negotiation, this is sounding suspiciously like a threat, my lady,” Lady Jeyne snapped.

“’Tis not a threat, but a bargain,” Sena said. She drew a deep breath, prayed her mother would forgive her. “Join me in ending this cruel war. Join me in bringing about a new era of peace for the Seven Kingdoms and I will relinquish all claim to my birthright. You need never see me or hear from me again if you do not wish it.”

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped, but Sena’s mind was made up. They must all make sacrifices. This was hers.

Lady Jeyne looked to one of the lords. “What say you, Lord Allard?”

The man she looked to was older than Sena, with a gruff beard and the chain that fastened his cloak was bronze and runic. Sena inclined her head to him. “Cousin,” she said.

Lord Allard studied her, and she could tell from his darting brown eyes that he was shrewd. That gave her hope. “Cousin,” he said, and nodded. He turned back to Lady Jeyne. “It is true, my Lady. Runestone is already starting to feel the strain of the war. And Lady Visenya’s standing claim to my seat remains a substantial concern to me. I would not be doing right by my house if I did not consider her proposal. So long as- so long as her surrender of her claim to Runestone extends to all children of her body. No child bearing the name Targaryen or her Lord husband’s name shall ever lay claim to Runestone again.”

That pinched at something deep in Sena. Signing away the rights of children she did not even have yet. She fixed her unknown cousin with a hard look. Lady Jeyne was waiting for her. It was now or never.

In the end, it was not truly a choice. The only man who would ever father children on her would be Aemond, and that was not even a possibility without this deal.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Sena,” Rhaena gasped. “Are you sure about this? Your mother’s seat? Your childhood home?”

Sena turned to Rhaena and brushed her hair from her face. “My childhood homes are King’s Landing and Dragonstone, sweet. And I doubt I will live long enough to see either again if I let this continue. Team Dragonstone, remember?”

Rhaena’s eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt thinking of Jace and Luke. She nodded shakily. “Team Dragonstone.”

Sena turned back to Lady Jeyne and Lord Allard, her heart in her throat. “In return for your fleet and your support, I forsake my claim to Runestone and the claim of all children of my body. Let the lords and ladies of the Vale and the honour of House Arryn play witness to the agreement.”

Lady Jeyne looked to Lord Allard, then back to Sena, and nodded stiffly. “I believe we have a deal.”

-----

The siege of King’s Landing was long and arduous. Sena took every moment that the city did not go up in flames or dragons did not fall on them from the sky as a victory.

She escorted the Arryn blockade to Blackwater Bay from dragonback, then descended on the field outside the city gates where Aemond’s armies were amassed, blocking every route in and out of the city. Vermithor circled once, twice, then set her down next to a vibrant blue dragon who bore the name Tessarion.

No sooner was she down from Vermithor’s back than Daeron was pulling her into a crushing hug. “Look at that! Look at all those ships! Bloody genius. Gods, if Aemond gets cold feet, I will wed you, Sena!”

Sena laughed raucously and beat on his chest until he set her down. “Show some respect! You are manhandling the Bronze Dragon, I’ll have you know!”

Daeron grinned. “Not Lady of Runestone?” He asked in a softer tone.

She shook her head gently. “We all must make sacrifices, sweet boy.”

He nodded grimly and bent to kiss her cheek. “It will be worth it, Sena. Once we’re all sat around one long table and bickering about… jousting versus melee, or whatever it is proper families bicker about.”

She grinned. “We can learn together, Daeron.”

He nodded, then his eyes flicked over her shoulder. “Might want to turn around before he tackles you, dear cousin.”

“What?” Sena said, spinning around.

Aemond was some feet away, looking at her with a soft, disbelieving look. Handsome in his armour and eyepatch. “You did it.”

Sena gave him a soft, teasing smile. “You doubted me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… live in awe of you. Every day.”

She blushed violently. “Come here, fool,” she said, reaching out to him.

He met her halfway and pulled her flush against him. “Issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

“Ñuha prūmia,” she murmured into his neck. My heart.

Aemond, Daeron and Ser Criston had closed off all entry points to the capital before she had arrived, by the time the Arryn fleet had been assembled. Their best reports said that the capital was already struggling before they arrived, but the blockaded roads and besieging army had applied pressure. Queen Alicent had enlisted her friends in the faith, and there was a preacher by the name of the Shepherd calling for Rhaenyra’s overthrowing on every street corner where he would be heard, drawing large flocks of the faithful. The Arryn fleet was like a boot on the neck, sealing the capital off from Velaryon relief. King’s Landing began to choke. Sena tried to hold the guilt of it at bay. So much suffering for no good reason, it made her sick.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Aemond caught her one day after many weeks of sitting and waiting, staring up at the besieged city’s walls while she tended to Vermithor. Inside those walls were Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, Prince Joffrey. Helaena, Alicent, Rhaenys. Addam Velaryon and his brother Alyn and the Nettles girl. All her blood, at some point or another. Not to mention the suffering of the smallfolk. As soon as the city was breached, she would seek out this Marigold woman, make sure she was safe-

“We are leading armies, Aemond,” she said and gave him a forced smile. “I reckon some thinking is probably in order.”

He gave her a considering shrug, leaning against Vermithor’s haunches like he belonged there. He had a way with dragons. She had never seen one of them snap at him. “There’s thinking and there’s overthinking. One is required, the other is pointlessly exhausting. Maybe… I could distract you, my love?”

She shook her head, laughing. “Incorrigible!” She exclaimed. “I’m still sore from this morning, Aemond.” He had awoken her on his camp bed with his tongue inside of her, plundering between her legs. She had moaned his name as he had fucked her slow and sweet, then spilling his seed on her stomach. They should probably be more mindful of their reputations, should probably not be seen coming and going from each other’s tents at all hours. But they were in this together now, this ultimate betrayal, and what was the saying the smallfolk used? In for a copper, in for a dragon?

“This is a siege, Sena. There’s little else to do but… fool around, let you practice your skills on me,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head at him, affronted. “I’ll practice my swordplay skills on you if you’re not careful, my Prince,” she said with a smirk.

He grinned and went to pull her into his arms, ready to say something when-

“My Prince! My Lady!” It was Jarrad. Aemond had made sure the enlisted man was Sena’s personal guard when she arrived back from the Vale. 

Sena turned in the Prince’s arms to the tall man. “Yes, Jarrad?”

Jarrad looked frankly alarmed and red in the face, like he had been running in full plate armour. “There’s word! From the Red Keep! A request for parlay, m’lady!”

“Shit,” she swore, and she and Aemond jumped to attention, following after Jarrad swiftly, back to her pavilion.

It was a letter, not unlike the one Aegon had sent her many moons ago at Rook’s Rest, but this time in her father’s distinctive jagged hand. It made Sena’s throat close.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men and Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen, Protector of the Realm request the presence of Prince Aemond Targaryen and Lady Visenya Targaryen at parley. The Queen and her consort request the meeting is held on neutral ground. If this is amenable, a date, time and place should be proposed, and the Queen and Prince shall follow on dragonback to the parley.

Sena sucked in a long breath of air through her teeth. This was it. They were finally getting Rhaenyra to the table. She exchanged a look with Aemond - he looked as apprehensive as she felt - and penned her affirmative reply.

Daeron and Ser Criston were not happy when they told them. “Why just the two of you? It stinks,” Daeron said with a grimace.

“I do not think they would meet us and you and Ser Criston,” Sena said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her crooked nose. The fire in the pavilion was burning low.

Aemond rested a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “Do not worry, brother. Caraxes and Syrax are no match for Vhagar and Vermithor.”

Daeron frowned. “I’m not worried about our odds, brother. I’m worried about one or both of you getting hurt or being killed.”

“I second that,” Ser Criston said, giving Prince Aemond a hard look. “Your mother would not sanction this meeting.”

Aemond clenched his jaw. “My mother is not here, Ser. That is what I am trying to fix.”

“Every moment we spend bickering about this is another moment where innocent men, women and children in Fleabottom are going hungry because of us,” Sena said with steel in her voice. “Another moment where Queen Alicent is in chains and Helaena is alone and Aegon is in hiding.”

Aemond looked to her then turned back to his brother and his mentor. “When we chose this course of action, we made a commitment. A commitment to this realm, to her people, to our family. We end this or we die trying. If anything should happen to me… or the Lady Visenya,” he said through gritted teeth, “I expect you to uphold that. I am not asking, Sers.”

Daeron and Ser Criston exchanged a hard look, but finally conceded.

-----

The Isle of Faces was a strange place. At the heart of the God’s Eye, it was an eerie, magical isle, the last place south of the Neck where weirwoods grew. The ghostly trees of the First Men’s faith watched Sena with their weeping eyes as she passed and the clink of her plate mail was the only sound for miles, it seemed. She laid her hand on one of the trunks, holding the gaze of a face twisted in horror. Something as old and unnameable as the life-force in the dragons flowed beneath her hand.

“I do not like this place,” Aemond’s voice came behind her, a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“No,” she breathed. “We do not belong. It is of the old world. A time before us, before our name. And it will long outlive us.”

She turned back and saw him standing still on the shore, his hands on Vhagar’s maw. He lingered by their dragons while she walked in the weirwood trees. The crown of the Conqueror was heavy on his brow. He held a tension in his jaw and Sena’s teeth ached in sympathy for his. “You have the blood of the First Men,” he pointed out.

She raised an eyebrow. It was true, and her dark hair and long face were evidence of it. “You have the blood of the Hightower but you still get seasick.”

That made him smirk, at least. “And you’ll never let me forget it.”

She smiled. “Come,” she said, reaching out a hand to him. “Caraxes and Syrax descended at the other side of the island. I think we’re supposed to meet them in the middle.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow and finally stepped away from his dragon, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “Symbolic,” he said with a wry smirk.

She shook her head and looked back at Vermithor, who was curled on his haunches down the shore from Vhagar. “If this comes to a fight…” she said with a sigh, “I do not fancy my chances on him against my father.”

Aemond turned with her to look back at the great bronze beast. “Dragons as old and grand as ours respect strength, Sena. Power, boldness. You hold all those qualities. You must only show him that. He likes you more than you think he does, anyway.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Does he?”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Aemond said. “He will never love you and obey you like he would have if you had raised him from a hatchling, or if you were first to claim him. But that is the price we pay for being their riders. If you wish to ride one of the largest, most ferocious beasts in the known world, you must accept that you will never master them, not truly.”

She nodded. Drew a deep breath. “Are you ready?” She asked.

He sighed and looked deep into the forest, his eye darting this way and that. “No. But we are here now.”

There was a carpet of leaves underfoot that made their footfall impossibly quiet as they walked on into the forest. It was an eerie place. The canopy overhead was full of blood-red, mottled brown, vibrant green. The air was so still she felt she disturbed it just by moving. There was no sign of life, no chittering creatures or birdsong. No sign of any living thing ever having been here until they stumbled across stones that looked too arranged to be natural.

Large, crumbled stones in a clearing that might have once held up a ceiling or a monument. An impossibly old and weathered flat rock that could have been a table. Runes twisted around it in the tongue of the First Men, the same runes that emblazoned and protected the armour of her mother’s house.

“This is where the First Men and the children of the forest signed their pact, ending the wars of the Dawn Age,” Aemond said beside her, looking around in wonder. “They carved the faces in the weirwood trees, so the Gods might bear witness.”

Sena watched him, the spark in his eye, the small smile on his lips. “We can come back another time, in peace time. So you might take it in properly.”

He shook his head. “No one approaches this isle without the will of the Gods, Sena. We will not be allowed back.”

She drew a breath and met the eye of a weeping weirwood. “So they are willing us to be here today? The Gods are smiling on us, then.”

“There are no Gods,” came a voice, and Sena and Aemond looked up sharply. “Only us.”

Her father was taller, more imposing than she remembered seeing him last. His armour was weathered and beaten, his hair twisted back from his face in fine braids. To his left was Rhaenyra, the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator glimmering on her brow. She looked as though she had not slept in the months since Jacaerys had died. “Father,” Sena breathed, watching Prince Daemon with hard eyes as the Prince and the Queen drew level with them.

“Daughter,” he said, then inclined his head, “nephew.”

“Uncle,” Aemond said. “Sister.”

“You are no blood of mine,” Rhaenyra said coldly. She could not even stand to look at him.

Sena sighed and leaned forward on the carved stone, hands spread wide. “Let us start as we mean to go on,” she said, eyeing Rhaenyra wearily. Aemond was not looking at his sister, though, but at her father. His eye was trained on the small, vertical scar on Prince Daemon’s neck, where Sena had struck him. He did not betray it on his features, but Sena knew Aemond well enough to know he found it amusing. 

Prince Daemon arched one brow. “And how would that be?”

“With respect,” Sena said. “And a mind for peace.”

Daemon scoffed. “How peaceful is a siege? How peaceful is descending upon the Eyrie with a stolen dragon?”

She glared at him. “Vermithor serves me,” she bit out, “and you lost my loyalty the day you murdered Jaehaerys.”

Daemon was eyeing her with amusement, his arms held behind his back. Dark Sister glinted on his hip, the ruby on the cross-guard flashing at Sena. “Yet you turn cloak to the man who murdered your own stepbrother.”

Rhaenyra stiffened and Aemond watched them both steadily, betraying no emotion. 

“I’m on no side, father. If I have chosen anything or anyone, it is our House, our family,” Sena said stiffly. She turned her gaze to Rhaenyra. “Surely you can see that, cousin? After we have all lost so much, all we want is for this to end.”

Rhaenyra glared at her and it sent a chill through Sena. “It will end as soon as the traitors bend the knee and accept me as their rightful queen.”

To Aemond’s credit, he bit his tongue.

“You know that is not possible, Rhaenyra,” Sena said. She was so tense her jaw was aching, her shoulders were bunched up. “They will not lay down their lives at your mercy anymore than you would lay down yours or Joffrey’s or Aegon’s at theirs.”

“It is not supposed to be a choice,” Rhaenyra said, “whether you pay homage to the ruler you are sworn to.”

Aemond shook his head. “I never swore to you, sister,” he said, calm and collected. “Nor will I allow you to place our family’s crown on the head of a bastard.”

“Get their names out of your mouth,” Rhaenyra spat. “Murderer.”

Aemond said nothing, just turned his eye on Prince Daemon. Sena’s father held his eye with interest.

“However we feel about each other, we are at an impasse,” Sena said. “Neither side will kneel to the other. Right now, the largest standing army in Westeros lays siege to King’s Landing. Blackwater Bay is cut off to you by the Arryn fleet and our dragons rival yours equally if we were to meet in the air. The people are starving and beginning to riot, I would wager. And we do not have the stamina or the will to keep fighting this war. If our forces meet now on the field, it will be a bloodbath,” Sena said, eyeing both her father and her stepmother. “More of our children, brothers, sisters will die. More of our dragons. Maybe all of them. And our House, already considerably slimmed at this point, dwindles to nothing and falls. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but know that every day this drags on, we are penning our own downfall.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze with cold, lilac eyes. She did not speak, did not move.

“There is an answer that leaves everyone happy, though. So we may end this with what humanity we have left,” Sena said.

Daemon barked a laugh. “Oh, do tell, clever girl. What plot have you two hatched in bed together that you think is so cunning?”

Sena did not look at her father, just held Rhaenyra’s gaze. “Lay your crown on your son Aegon’s head, Rhaenyra,” she said. “Wed him to Jaehaera. Unite your claim and your brother’s.”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes. “I will not wed my child to my brother’s spawn-“

“Do not think of her as Aegon’s, then. Think of her as Helaena’s. Think of this as the way you will leave your little sister with one living child. I am begging you,” Sena said. Her hands trembled on the runes carved on the table. Her gut was twisting as Rhaenyra watched her with an impenetrable gaze.

Rhaenyra avoided that altogether, shaking her head. “Joffrey is my heir, my eldest living child-“

“He is also the last heir to Driftmark,” Sena interrupted. She had spent long hours thinking about this, how she could save the sweet boy, Jace and Luke’s brother from the stain of bastardy. “Unless you wish that seat to be passed to Ser Laenor’s bastards, or whoever Addam and Alyn of Hull are. And Baela and Rhaena will suffer the same humiliation we have in the process, you and I and Princess Rhaenys. Watching themselves get passed over for the first person with a speck of the right blood and a cock in their trousers. Think about it, Rhaenyra. One cannot be Lord of the Tides and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Make Joffrey Lord of the Tides and make Aegon King.” She was begging Rhaenyra with her eyes to go for it. It was purely saving face, but it could work if they presented a united front on it.

Rhaenyra at last turned her gaze on Aemond. “What do you think of this?” She asked.

Daemon made an affronted sound. “You cannot seriously be considering this, Rhaenyra-“

Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence her husband. Sena bit back a smile. “This plan disinherits you too, brother.”

“We all must make sacrifices,” Aemond looked at his sister, considering carefully. “It makes sense. Unites your side and mine. You will get no complaint from my brother, he never wanted the crown. Whatever you think of him, he only ever did it to keep our heads off the block. And if Daeron and I kneel to your son, my mother will follow suit. Your trueborn son and the daughter of our father’s eldest boy. We won’t do better than that.”

“No, you won’t,” Daemon sneered. “Can’t you see this for what it is, Rhaenyra? They know they are beaten and they are trying desperately to keep their heads.”

“It is us who is laying siege to your seat, father,” Sena ground out. “It is your city that starves, primed to turn on you at a moment’s notice. Your throne sits on pitch-soaked kindling, ready to burn.”

Daemon was glaring at her, grinding his teeth together. Rhaenyra took a deep breath. Collected herself. She looked so weary, even more bowed and bent than Aemond. “Aegon is just a boy. He will need a regent.”

“And we will find him one,” Sena said. “Someone as neutral as we can find, while still being trustworthy and honourable. I was thinking maybe Princess Rhaenys or Lord Cregan Stark, he is said to have a good, sharp head on his shoulders-“

“No. If you make this plan, you will see it through to the end, Sena,” Rhaenyra said sharply. Stiffly, she rose her hands to her head. The golden crown of the Conciliator, emblazoned with the eight coats-of-arms of the Great Houses rose from her brow and rested on the stone before Sena. The runes of Sena’s forebears seemed to glimmer on the ancient rock. “If you are to put my son on the throne, you will protect him with your life. You will keep my brothers and Alicent Hightower true. And you will bear the weight of that crown until Aegon’s coming of age.”

The world seemed to tilt unevenly before her. Fear gripped her insides like ice water.

If Rhaenyra noticed how she blanched, though, she showed no sympathy. “I was younger than you are now when my father made me Princess of Dragonstone,” she said. “I once told you to be a Lady of our House is to be godlike. You shoulder the responsibilities no one else has to, the fears and worries of every soul who kneels to your banners. You place crowns on the brows of your brothers, your husbands, your sons and kiss them as you send them off to war… send them off to die,” there was a slight tremble in her voice and Sena swallowed hard. “You will not put a crown on Aegon’s head unless you are willing to put one on your own, Visenya, and understand what it means.”

Sena met Rhaenyra’s eye, blinked slowly. She took a deep breath and reached out a trembling hand. The crown was cool to the touch under her hand.

She turned her head and looked to Aemond. He reached up and lifted his own crown from his head. As soon as the steel-and-rubies lifted from his brow, he looked younger, lighter. He placed the crown down next to the golden one. Reached his hand out and touched Sena’s, giving her a smile. “Try one on for size. I think you’ll find it fits you better than it did me.”

Sena’s heart leapt and she looked between Rhaenyra and Aemond. They looked more alike right now than she had ever seen them. She could see her uncle in both their features. To Sena’s shock, they even met each other’s gazes and shared a look. Not one of love but also not one of hatred. Maybe understanding. 

Her chest fluttered. They were really going to do this, she realised. They were going to end this. A pit formed in her stomach as she looked down to the precious, historic circlets before her. All that stood between them and peace was her. She just needed to find her courage, find her steel and don a crown-

“How sweet. I love happily ever afters,” Daemon’s voice pierced the fog. He was grinning widely, maliciously at his daughter. “The simpering of women and cripples. It’s heartwarming.”

Sena’s hand tightened into a fist on the stone. Aemond laid a hand over her fist, willing her to remain calm, giving her a look. They were so close. It was so different from their usual patterns, her rage and his calm, it was strange. “Watch your tongue, father,” she warned and eyed the scar on his neck, “or I will finish what I started.”

Rhaenyra drew a sharp breath and Aemond squeezed her hand. Daemon leered at her. “There she is. My angry, wild-thing of a daughter. No more suited to ruling a kingdom than she would be to ruling Runestone. That is how you got the Arryns onside, isn’t it? Trading away Runestone? So directionless and small and scared you can’t even be the Lady of sheep and self-importance.”

“I did what I had to do to stop you from slaughtering every last person I care about, father,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly calm to her ears. “I will never apologise for that but you will never understand it because you have never thought of anyone but yourself. Here I am, begging you to let me put a crown on your son’s head and all you can see is that you have not won.”

He shook his head, grinning wryly. “No, you’re right, why can I not just be glad my lady wife is trading away everything I have done for her, everything I have given my life to win for her. Give it all away to you, a simpering and preening, pathetic little whore who thinks herself clever, who cannot even bring herself to be grateful I lowered myself to fucking her cunt mother-“

“Say another word and I’ll open your throat, Uncle,” Aemond hissed.

“Daemon-“ Rhaenyra snapped.

“No, let him,” Sena said, regarding her father with a small smile. “It’s all he has. His acid. His vitriol. He has had no true power in a long time. No one trusts him with it, not even his own brother.” She felt a strange sense of power flow through her as her father fumbled for whatever barbs he could throw at her. She had won. “Go on, father. Call me a whore for falling in love with someone who sees me, all of me. Demean the woman you murdered because she refused to simper and bend to your will. Call me foolish when all I have ever done is refuse to see the world with the same hatred in my soul as you do. I am everything you wish you were and you fucking hate it.”

Aemond’s fingers twined into hers. Rhaenyra was watching her with wide eyes.

“I have wished for many things in my life. I have wished to be rid of you more than once. But I have never wished to be like you, weak and scared as you are.” Her father scoffed, looked at his wife and threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it, then? All of this, Jacaerys and Lucerys, your father- my brother, just to give up and give in? Just like that?” Rhaenyra did not look at him. She looked like she was composing herself, pulling herself tall, shrugging off the weight of the crown. “Brilliant. Fucking perfect. I couldn’t make a better plan myself - the realm will be ruled by an infant and a green girl who will lose her mind a week of each month with moon blood.”

Aemond glowered at him, ready to say something, but Sena laid a hand on his arm to stop him, suddenly feeling far away.

Her stomach dropped.

Months making plans, flying north, sailing south, laying siege…

Aemond was none the wiser, glaring at her father, but Rhaenyra was watching her with an odd look. Lilac eyes tracked the slack expression on Sena’s features, her hold on Aemond. “Sena…” she breathed, “when did you last bleed?” 

Daemon looked to his wife, then back at his daughter. Then turned cold violet eyes on Aemond.

A cold sense of realisation flooded through Sena like a tide.

Her moon blood.

She had been so busy flying from one end of the realm to the other, leading an army, sitting on war councils, she had not even noticed. Surrounded by men, men and more men, she had not even thought. All it would have taken was a single fucking woman in the entire camp to grimace and complain about cramp in her stomach. And the nausea in the mornings - she had thought it to be nerves. The constant blanket of dread that had laid over her for a year now.

She looked to Aemond, and Aemond caught the panicked look on her face, and realisation finally started to dawn on his. His eye went wide. “When did you last bleed?”

There was a lump the size of a peach pit in her throat. “Before-“ she croaked, “Before Harrenhal.”

Aemond looked as though he had seen a ghost. “But-” he said. “We were careful.” It was true. They had been so careful. Even in their frenzy, their desperation to get to learn every part of each other, they had been careful, knowing this war was no place for a babe. Aemond spent on her stomach, her back, in her mouth, never inside her-

“That first night,” she breathed with a pang of shock. That first night, when they had all spoken of moon tea, twice or three times. But they had also been plotting to end a war, moving their pieces into place. “There was Alys and Daeron and all our plans- I forgot.”

Aemond’s hands were shaking as he reached out to her. “Sena,” he whispered. “Do not jest.”

She laid a hand against her stomach, feeling for a slight curve but it was impossible to tell over her armour. But she was thickening, she had noticed it. She had thought it was having no time to train, being stressed, filling out her woman’s figure. Aemond had noticed it because he liked it, liked her tummy and her thighs. Her breasts, full and tender, painful most days. She had thought it was just stress and her fertility and Aemond’s ministrations, but no. This was not a jest. She sent a petrified look at her lover. “Aemond,” she breathed.

“It’s okay,” he said, placing a hand over hers, over her belly. “It’s better than okay. Look at me, love. It’s wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Prince Daemon’s eyes were fixed on their hands on her belly. Her belly, where she was growing a babe- “And thank you. For finally giving me the excuse.”

The sound of Dark Sister being drawn from her sheath rung around the clearing like a bell tolling a death knell.

Aemond reached for his own sword.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra barked, but it was no use. She had no control over him and she knew it.

Horrible, horrible dread filled Sena. “Take one step closer and I’ll kill you myself, father.”

“No,” Aemond snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Get behind me.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra demanded, “stop this right now. That is my brother. Your daughter.”

But Daemon was not listening to his wife, his queen. He rounded the stone where the First Men and the children of the forest had brokered their peace, thousands of years ago. They had come so close to doing the same. “You have cheated death too many times, nephew,” he said. 

Aemond drew his sword, holding one arm out around Sena, keeping her back. “And I will do it once more,” he said, “so I may love my child like you never did.”

Their steel clashed and Sena screamed for them to stop, but Rhaenyra had wrapped her arms around her middle, pulling her sharply back from the duel. “No! No!” She begged as Daemon brought his blade down hard on Aemond and he feinted out of the way. She pulled at Rhaenyra’s grasp, twisting in her arms, but the former queen would not budge.

“Do not be foolish,” Rhaenyra ground out, “you have more to defend than yourself now.”

Sena’s blood thundered in her ears as her father struck and slashed with vicious intent. Battle-worn and tested, wielding Valyrian steel, with more than twice Aemond’s years. Prince Daemon was ferocious and Aemond met him with an equal venom, meeting every strike, dancing around the older man.

Daemon feinted, twisted himself around Aemond, then swung down on Aemond’s blind side. Sena screamed, “Aemond!” And he caught Dark Sister’s blade right at the last second. Her blood ran cold. Prince Daemon was not fighting to win but to kill. “Let me go,” she spat, rounding on Rhaenyra. “Let me go or I will hurt you too.”

Rhaenyra met her gaze, her eyes hard. “You have a kingdom to think of, Sena. You have a child-“

“A child who will have no father if I do not do something right now.”

“A child who will live without Aemond and die with you. A peace that will die with you too.”

She looked to her lover. Her brilliant, fierce lover, who was pushing back Daemon with everything he had, but was reticent to kill, pulling his blows right at the last second, the smallest sliver of hesitation softening him. He would not kill her father, she realised. It had to be her. 

Daemon had none of Prince Aemond’s reservations. His blade swung for Aemond’s shoulder and met Aemond’s parry so hard it left a notch on the lesser sword.

Sena spun back to the Queen, pulling at her arms. “Rhaenyra,” she begged, meeting her cousin’s eyes. She would plead, she would beg. “If he kills Aemond, I will kill him,” she told her. Rhaenyra’s eyes were swimming with tears, pleading with Sena to stop. “And if I kill him, you will kill me and where does it fucking end?” 

Rhaenyra’s grip on her slackened as she watched her husband. Not for the first time, Sena wondered what it was between them that had someone with a good heart so lost on someone with one of darkness and rot. Did she feel for Daemon how Sena felt for Aemond? Could Sena understand it, if that was the truth? 

Rhaenyra let Sena slip past her. “Stop him,” she murmured, watching her husband with large, fearful eyes.

With a howl of fury and the sound of steel being drawn, Sena joined the fray. She caught Daemon’s sword on a downstroke, halting it from cutting into Aemond’s bicep. Daemon met her eye and glared at her, seething, burning with rage. “Two on one, father. Should be a fair enough fight for you.”

He smirked. “Three on one, really,” he said, eyeing her belly. “I warned you, girl. I told you, if he lays a hand on my daughter-“

“Your daughter is not your property,” Sena spat.

“Darling, please,” Aemond said. “Please. Stand back. Let me handle this.”

She shot him a look and he was afraid, watching her with his eye wide.

“Listen to your lover, Sena,” Prince Daemon ground out.

“No. You have taken too much from me, father. You will not have him too,” she said and there was an ice, a steel in her voice that shocked even her. “And my name is Visenya.”

Daemon raised his arms to parry her strike, a look of shock in his eyes at the savageness of her blow. She rushed him with her shoulder, catching him square in the chest and making him stumble off balance, leaving his back open to Aemond. As Aemond swung into the opportunity, Daemon clattered his gauntlet across Sena’s face and stars blew behind her eyelids. She spat blood and Daemon caught Aemond’s strike.

How many times had she duelled him and actually won? Even once? She searched her mind, searched her memories of Dragonstone. He fought like he was invincible, like arrows would bounce off him, and in some way they did. He had been knighted at six-and-ten, the same age as Baelon the Brave, and given Dark Sister by the Old King. He had been wielding Valyrian steel and knocking grander, larger foes in the dirt for some thirty years. How was she supposed to do this?

Daemon swung straight for her middle and Aemond howled with rage, knocking him off balance with his entire body. It was a poor move, had Aemond stumbling to catch himself. “Aemond,” Sena barked, willing him not to be foolish.

Aemond would not look at her, though, swinging on her father once again, intent on ending this. “It’s me you despise, Uncle. Attack me.”

“Gladly,” Daemon growled and lashed out savagely at his nephew.

Aemond parried the blade to his left, but Daemon knew what he was doing, knew it took Aemond a second longer to react to movement on his left side, and slipped Dark Sister down Aemond’s blade, past the tilted cross-guard and biting deep into the top of Aemond’s thigh, where his armour gave way to his hip.

It seemed her father knew veins and arteries better than she did.

The scream that came from Aemond was pure agony and Sena’s vision swam as blood spurted. “Aemond!” She cried. “Aemond-“

“Aemond!” It was Rhaenyra. Sobbing.

Aemond fell where he stood and dark, dark blood began to pool beneath him.

Sena screamed and rushed Daemon.

She threw her weight behind a swing, glancing off his breastplate, and he caught her with a firm arm. She went dead in his arms, pulling him off balance, raking her nails over his face. Daemon howled, let her go. She raised her sword again and Daemon swung desperately to meet her in time. He missed her blade entirely, missed her cross-guard and swung clean through her mail, through two of her fingers on the grip of her sword.

Blood spurted. Sena’s vision went grey. She wouldn’t have even known if she had not watched the digits fall, the grip of her sword growing warm and wet. The stench of iron on the air was nauseating. She did not feel it. She only felt rage and fear and a thirst for death. Luke, Grey Ghost,  Jaehaerys, Jace, Maelor, all of it. Someone had to pay. She tackled her father where he left his front open, staring with faint horror at her fingers on the floor.

They crashed to the ground and Sena’s stomach rolled, her vision swam as her chin cracked off of her father’s breastplate. She forced herself up and pinned his arms to his sides with her thighs. She had him, she thought belligerently. She had him. On the floor, her blood running freely over both of them. She was growing weaker by the second, she knew it, but she did not need long. Her father struggled against her, throwing his greater weight in an attempt to push her off of his chest, so she raised her sword in her bloody sword hand and brought it down hard.

The pommel connected with Prince Daemon’s skull and she struck him so hard the ruby set on the cross-guard flew free of its setting, spinning away into the undergrowth. Prince Daemon went slack beneath her, his head rolling, groaning in agony and nausea. 

He was dazed, his hands splayed wide at his sides. Dark Sister lay some feet away in the leaves.

At long last, Sena stood, shaking on her feet, ready to end this horror story once and for all.

She looked down at her sword hand. Where her first two fingers had been were now bloody stumps. She gazed at them in wonder. Swapped her sword to her left hand. Her left was weak, she was not so gifted as to be strong with both, but it would do.

This would not be swordplay, after all. This would be butchery. And she did not need to be proficient with a blade to slaughter a pig, she only needed to know where to stick it. She raised her sword - a slimmer, slighter model of Dark Sister, now devoid of its signature ruby. She would take off his head with one clean strike.

She would not miss again.

“Sena!” A woman’s voice screamed. “Stop! Please! Stop!”

She could see a creeping tide of blood at her feet. She suddenly remembered where she was. Sena whipped her head to Aemond and her vision swam.

He was limp on the ground and Rhaenyra was cradling him in her arms, tears running freely down her cheeks. She had removed his sword belt, tied it around his thigh. Twisted it tight with a branch of weirwood. Gods.

He was the reason Luke was dead. He would not deny it, nor would Sena, but there Rhaenyra was, trying to save his life. Sena watched Rhaenyra cradling her little brother, the man who killed her son, and suddenly, she felt the fight go out of her. 

This needed to end, she realised, as she looked down at her father. This needed to end now.

She dropped to her knees, straddling her father’s prone form, and pulled him up so their faces were inches apart. “I am letting you live, father. Do you hear that?” She asked. He was dazed but he looked up at her. “I am showing you mercy. I am letting you live because I will not hurt Rhaenyra and Aegon and I want to preside over a whole realm with a united House Targaryen. I am letting you live because I will not kill my child’s grandfather. I am letting you live because you are my father, and as much as I have hated you over the years, I have also loved you. You will never again raise arms against a member of House Targaryen or I swear upon all the gods and on my mother’s grave, I will have your head. Am I understood?” 

Daemon looked at her with identical violet eyes, unfocused. He nodded weakly, and Sena dropped him to the ground, kicking Dark Sister far away from his grasp and running to Aemond. 

He was so pale, so limp. She kneeled over him in Rhaenyra’s arms, took his weight from her. He was still warm on her legs, on her body. She ran her hand down his face, leaving blood on his cheeks as she did. “Aemond. Aemond. Ñuha prūmia,” she begged him. His eye rolled, trying to focus on her, but he was slipping out of consciousness. 

“Sena,” came Rhaenyra’s voice, pulling her from her state of shock and fury and fear. “Sena, look at me,” Rhaenyra steadies Sena’s face in her bloody hands. “You need to take him to Harrenhal now, get him to a maester as fast as you can. He may yet live. Take Vermithor, go now.” 

He might live? But he was bleeding so much- he could barely hold his eye open. She had held him like this before, the night he lost his eye, but it had been nothing like this. The blood beneath them, soaking through her breeches, staining her armour and skin was dark and thick.

Sena looked back over her shoulder at where her father was attempting to rouse himself. He faltered, rolling up onto his knees and starting to gag and wretch. “Sena,” Rhaenyra snapped, pulling her gaze back. “You need to trust me. If my brother is to live, you need to go now. Daemon and I will follow.” 

Fear shot through her. The fear that she could lose it all. Aemond and her sword hand and Rhaenyra and her father and their peace, the thing Aemond was dying for. Sena was afraid, afraid that if she left them now, it would all be for nought, and her father would vanish with the wind and plot another strike on her or the Green forces. Aemond would die for nothing and more of them would follow. Helaena next. Baela and Rhaena. Aegon - the Younger or the Elder.

But when she looked down at Aemond, she knew.

She would lose herself if she lost him now. If she had to spend the rest of her life looking upon a child with his laugh and his bowed lips but she could not hold him.

She knew she would give it all up in a heartbeat just to save him. 

She had lied to Alys that day in Harrenhal, she realised faintly. Alys had asked her, you wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?

She had lied. She had lied and said yes. But she did not realise it was a lie until right now, with Aemond bleeding out in her arms. She’d slay them all, she’d burn it all down, just to save him. Just so he could meet his child.

“Help me,” she bit out to Rhaenyra.

They managed his limp weight between them, Rhaenyra urging her not to twist herself or strain too hard but that ship had sailed, she thought grimly. She had just went toe-to-toe with her father and won.

By the time they reached Vermithor at the shore, Aemond was deathly pale and not moving. His pulse was still there, weak but valiant. Vermithor snorted at her approach and Vhagar growled and whined. She could smell her rider’s blood on the air, see his limp form.

“Vermithor!” Sena barked. “Vermithor, dohaerās.”

The large bronze dragon snorted and reared his head, shirking away from the bleeding prince, the distraught rider.

“No! No! Not right now,” she hollered. Aemond’s weight bore down hard on her, her arms under his, holding up his upper body. Rhaenyra had his legs, holding the tourniquet on his thigh steady, but black blood was still oozing weakly. “Dohaerās. Dohaerās!”

But it was no use. Vermithor growled low in his throat, raising on his haunches.

She lowered Aemond to the shore and felt ready to sob. He would not die here. He would not. She would not bury him so far from home, without his mother looking on his face again. No.

She stood. Drew herself up to her full height. Her voice was cold and commanding. The voice of a woman grown. The voice of a ruler. “Iksan aōha kipagīros. Iksan Visenya Targārien, se ānogar hen uēpa Valyria. Iksan se brāedāzma zaldrīzes se kesā dohaeragon nyke.”

I am your rider. I am Visenya Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Bronze Dragon and you will serve me.

Vermithor met her eyes. Met her wild fury, her desperation with liquid amber eyes. She was no Visenya the Conqueror. No Jaehaerys the Conciliator. But she would be damned if she failed now because of some wretched wyrm. 

He let out a low grumble, then lowered himself to the ground. One bronze wing extended, covering a large swathe of the shore.

Relief flooded every inch of her being. “Come on,” she said, and she lifted Aemond with Rhaenyra once more.

-----

Harrenhal was a dreadfully cold castle, and Sena did her best to keep the fire stoked at all hours, in the rooms where she had first held Aemond in her arms and known every inch of him.

Under the blankets and furs she had laid on him, Aemond rarely stirred, as heavily drugged as he was. His damaged eyelid was slack and drooped over his empty socket, his sapphire eye on his bedside table. The maesters had attended to him day and night for the first few days. Sena only allowed them to look at her hand once she knew he would live.

Her hand was in agony. The first two fingers of her sword hand severed just below the knuckle, the third finger cut deeply. She would never hold a sword in her right again. She did not know how she had not dropped her blade as it had happened and died on Dark Sister there and then. But then, she knew enough of life and death at this point to know the body was capable of incredible feats when it had to be. When there was no other choice.

The maesters gave her nothing for the pain - the babe in her belly was too little and milk of the poppy would be dangerous, they had told her. She was happy to agree. Happy to grit her teeth and bear it, sitting by Aemond’s side.

His soft, steady breathing kept her company. As did the tiny soul growing inside her.

The seat at Aemond’s bedside was comfortable enough and they had pushed the bed closer to the fire, giving the both of them the best chance of fighting off the Stranger, fighting off infection. Targaryen blood burned hot, though. She had faith in them.

She lost count of the days. Lost count of how long she sat and paced and rubbed at her belly. She brushed Aemond’s hair, shaved his face, changed his shirts, raised his head and fed him sips of broth, dribbles of water. He was growing frightfully skinny and pale and gaunt. He did nothing but sleep but still the shadows under his eyes were black as night. She stroked her fingers over his cheek. Begged him to live, begged him to wake, begged him to kiss her. “I love you,” she murmured into his hair, against his lips. “I love you. Do not leave me.”

Alys appeared every now and then, to bring her food, make sure she was drinking water, give her news of Rhaenyra and Daemon. “Your father is bed bound,” she had told her some days ago. “The maesters say he is bleeding in his brain. He keeps convulsing dreadfully.”

Sena did not care. Did not give a fuck, with Aemond so close to death. Rhaenyra stood vigil at Daemon’s bedside, same as Sena stayed at Aemond’s. There were no words exchanged, nothing uttered between them, but the crowns of the realm were on the mantle, she had noticed faintly a few days ago. Someone had placed them side by side above the hearth. How ridiculous it seemed now. All this for the sake of circlets of metal and gems. For a twisted throne. 

Alys came with the maester one morning, who checked Aemond’s pulse, checked his bedpan. Listened to his breathing. Alys laid a hand on Sena’s shoulder. “You need to go to bed, Lady Visenya. This is not good for the babe. Allow me. I’ll stay with him, come wake you as soon as he stirs.”

Sena shook her head weakly. She was so tired, so tired, but how could she sleep?

“Lay down at least,” Alys murmured, brushing Sena’s curls from her shoulder. “Lay down beside him. Your father is incapacitated, Sena, he has not risen from his bed in a sennight. I will be right here. I will wake you if Aemond so much as twitches.”

She did not have the will to keep protesting. She lay down beside Aemond, burrowed under the furs and blankets and into his side, gently laying one had over his chest. Alys tugged the covers up tightly around her shoulders. It was not so comfortable - her dress was growing too tight on her figure and her stomach was still churning as the babe changed and rearranged every part of her. 

“I love you,” she murmured against Aemond’s temple. “Do not leave me.”

She slept lightly, fitfully.

It was Aemond’s stirring, his breath rustling her hair that awoke her.

She was awake and alert in an instant, pushing herself up onto one arm. Her dress was hopelessly creased, her hair tangled in knots, and Alys was dozing in the chair by the bed. But Aemond- Aemond had a little pink in his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered. One purple eye and one blank space. Sena brushed his lower lip with her thumb. “Hello, darling,” she said. Her throat was thick with emotion, her eyes brimming with tears. “Hello. I’m so glad to see you.”

Alys stirred and looked at Aemond’s stirring form with wide eyes. “My Prince,” she breathed and pushed herself up quickly. “I- I’ll get the maester.”

As she fled from the room, Aemond’s eye left her and returned to Sena. “Gods, I must be truly dying, if she was concerned,” he jested and it sounded weak but Sena chuckled. She kissed the corner of his mouth sweetly.

“Your mother is coming,” she told him. “She is travelling right now. I am told she rides day and night on horseback. So no scaring us, okay? She is exhausting herself just for you, so you must hold on.”

He reached up and gripped her left hand weakly. “I intend to, beautiful girl. I intend to.”

“Good,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his hair, to his temple. “Good.”

He let go of her hand, reached down, to rest on her stomach. “Did I- did I dream this part? Was it just the milk of the poppy or are you-“

“We’re having a baby, Aemond,” she said, a little wetly. “The maester examined me a few days ago and confirmed it.”

He smiled that wide, boyish smile of his that was everything she loved about his soul in one. “And are you… pleased?”

She was crying again, she knew. Her tears ran off her cheeks, down her neck, dampening the shoulder of his shirt. “I have never been happier,” she said. “You are alive. We are at peace. And we have a little one on the way. Aemond, I never dreamed we would get this lucky.”

He was beaming with pride, his chest puffed up, with one hand on her belly and the other cradling her injured hand to his chest. “You’ll have to marry me now, love. I won’t let you make my daughter a bastard.”

She wrinkled her nose at him playfully, laughing wetly. “Or son.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, giving a little shake of his head. “I have a feeling about this.”

“Do you?” She asked, brushing his long hair from his forehead. 

“I do,” he said, holding her gaze with certainty and giving her a little smile. “Kiss me, please, darling. I’m a little foggy to do it myself.”

She leaned over him, cradled his strong jaw in her hand and sealed their lips together. His breath was sour from slumber but she did not care even in the slightest. He tasted better than any fine wine and he sighed happily into the kiss, bumping his nose against hers with a gleeful little grin. He broke away from her, traced her shining bottom lip with his thumb. “Did we truly do it, darling? Did we end it?” He asked softly, his voice a little hazy.

“We did, my love,” she said, smiling down at him, stroking the stubble on his jaw.

“Mm,” he sighed happily. Then he pulled her down for a kiss. “Marry me,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered against him. “Yes.”

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

[woodsfae]

If I Had A Nickel For Every Time I Was Forcibly Re-Traumatized During A Work Training I'd Only Have Two Nickels, But It's Weird That It Happened Twice

#1: MCC, 2017ish

In 2017, I got hired to work as a crewleader for the Montana Conservation Corps (MCC) as a replacement for some dude who washed out of the crewleader training by taking the digeridoo he brought with him and walked into the mountains for three days for some bs white man's appropriative spiritual quest instead of...y'know...attending training.

So I came in late, but still more experienced than anyone but one other crewleader I met, and was immediately put into a week of 8-hour-a-day training out at a classically folksy campground several hours into the middle of a rural, wooded area. Some of the training was great, especially the modules led by the indigenous staff members. I use what I learned in the Racial Justice module lead by two members of the Blackfoot nation and one member of the Little Shell Chippewa nation regularly, and look back on it as a highlight of that week. Not only in regards to the information I was provided, but the way they were taught.

The Wilderness First Responder training, lead by "Wild Bill and Lady Louise," however, was even more folksy, anecdote-laden, and self-congratulatory than you can imagine. I technically learned one thing in that training, which was comprised of at least 50% egotistical, self-aggrandizing personal stories of questionable educational quality. Most of the trainings lay somewhere between these two examples. But not the training on recognizing domestic abuse. That was one was not only extremely bad, but badly mis-handled.

"Michal, what could be wrong about teaching youth crewleaders how to recognize signs of domestic abuse in the vulnerable youth you were entrusted with?" my strawman example commenter cries out. Well. I'll tell you since you asked.

A woman who ran a women's shelter got up and told graphic stories about battered women and children, presumably thinking that horrifying people with the depravity of cishet mankind was enough of a training, without recognizing that the statistics she was quoting at us also applied to us. Part-way through the recitation of all the ways abusive family members can harm people in their household, I recognized that I was having flashbacks about my time as a child in a household that was so ludicrously abusive, many people have told me I must be lying about my own life because they can't believe any parent is that comically, over-the-top evil. And so I sensibly got out of my metal, folding chair -- also sensibly selected towards the back of the seating after I saw the topic in the folded, paper handout we were provided with of the day's proceedings -- and went to go take a little walk around the building to hopefully shake myself out of this little C-PTSD triggered response, and come back once I was feeling less disassociated.

I got as far as the door. Some fucking white, male staff member literally jumped in front of the door to physically block me from leaving and then told me that I was not allowed to leave a training.

I said OK, but I am experiencing a PTSD episode from the subject material and need a moment to compose myself.

This did not persuade him to stop, and may I reiterate, physically blocking the door for me to leave.

I reasoned with him with the type of calmness under duress only acquired by getting PTSD: Sir. I was abused as a child. This is distressing subject matter for me to hear. I am disassociating because of my PTSD, because I was abused much as this presenter is currently describing. I need to go outside and attempt to stop disassociating.

He said that if I left he would mark me as having not completed this training, which was required to continue being employed by MCC.

As I only had about $100 in my bank account, and rent due in a week for which I was relying on my impending, Americorps stipend (as I recall, around $700 a month) to cover, I returned to my seat and continued violently disassociating.

The next module was choose-your-own-but-a-free-period-is-not-allowed, and so I picked one that looked interesting, and was also lead by an indigenous woman. There was some kind of team building exercise, that I cannot clearly recall, due to said violent disassociation. It was something to do with balancing pipes, I think. The trainer noticed I could not physically make the pipes do the thing and drew me aside.

That last module triggered my PTSD badly, I told her, and: I am struggling to stop disassociating.

She sent me to go spend as much time as I needed to gather myself. Still badly effected by the previous, white male staffmember threatening my employment, I only went behind a nearby camp vehicle, sat, and tried to pull myself together. She came to check on me again, and confided that she was also triggered by the presentation, having had domestic abuse in her history. Her kindness and openness made me cry, and the solidarity helped me regain a little footing. I said I was planning to complain about the lack of trigger warnings and for not allowing for a recovery break, and she said she would, too.

In my next free period, I went around and talked to the new acquaintances I had made so far in training, most of whom had un-ideal childhoods. There are plenty of seasonal workers who have great, stable backgrounds. They tend to be on summer break from college, or are between a bachelor's and a grad program. But a lot of the time seasonal workers are people who have unstable personal histories, who have seasonal jobs and no safety nets because they were poor, or queer, otherwise discriminated against, or any combination thereof. People who take $700 a month, physically demanding temporary jobs are either extremely privileged, or extremely disadvantaged. As a member of the latter group, I can assure you we sniff each other out in a matter of hours, and sometimes seconds.

Well, to cut a long story slightly less long, I wrote a letter of personal complaint, persuaded a half a dozen other people to personally complain, a few from the privileged, non-triggered contingent, merely on the moral merits of the argument. MCC gave a formal apology -- two, actually -- and an offer to for anyone who was upset to talk to a staff member. One of the people who gave an apology on behalf of the organization was the indigenous woman who told me the presentation was triggering for her which, if it wasn't fully her decision, is extremely fucked up. I did speak to some of the staff members. But I do not think it endeared me to anyone in the organization for later reasons that can only be told in separate tales. Because for some fucking reason (being flat broke and owing rent), I did not quit and continued to work for MCC through the rest of the season.

#2: In 2024 I was hired at [redacted]. Let's call it the climate change nonprofit (CC). My training at CC went fine until it didn't. Then, I joined a training for how to form a persuasive argument that adapts to the scenario. We learned some stuff. We watched a video. Then a "trigger warning: self harm" slide come on the screen and one of the trainers said we ought to leave the training if we thought we needed to, now or partway through the video, and they would simply let us know when it was done, wait for us to rejoin, and continue the training.

Having come from, as previously stated, a comically-extremely abusive background, which did come along with a free serving of self-harming, I thought about it, then braced myself for unknown levels of self harm education. Mostly I was confused as to why a climate change video came with a self harm trigger warning.

It was mistagged. What it actually was, was a speech by a white, queer man, who opened by describing a death by suicide, due to homophobic revenge porn lifestreaming. And then the speaker's experience of being called a f*g at age seven by a teacher. And more homophobia. And then a call to action to not be in the closet but to be out so you can help people who aren't out, by being openly gay. Then a breakdown by a professor in a class as to why this was an effective emotional appeal (I beg to differ. It half made me want to go back in the closet, so effectively did it call back to my childhood being called a Demon-Possessed-Lesbian-Whore by my own mother, before I'd even processed what gender meant as an abstract concept).

Needless to say, I was fucking triggered. I froze, and did not leave the training. A bit later we were given 10 minutes to write an elevator pitch based on the information of how to make an elevator pitch, and a scenario in which to set it.

Fueled by the power of two-decades-of-using-writing-as-a-trauma-processing-tool and also my oldest superpower, spite, I wrote an elevator pitch with the emotional hook of "I enjoy not having an asthma attack from wildfire smoke," and pivoted it to "we have the state constitutional right to clean air will you join us in electing politicians who won't amend the state constitution to remove that right." It went well.

And then, because I am constitutionally incapable of biting my tongue when someone does something fucked up, I wrote an extremely civil email with extremely academically formal language objecting to the lack of correct trigger warnings, and using a such a traumatically unrelated topic as suicidal ideation due to intense homophobic violence to climate change to teach us how to write a persuasive pitch to get people to volunteer for climate causes. By talking about how long it takes a queer person to fall 500 feet to their death of despair. Because that's emotionally equivalent to whomever decided that including those videos in the training was a great idea.

My supervisors at CC both expressed their regret as to the inaccurate tagging and explicit homophobic violence. I personally checked in with the other openly queer person in my training group and they said they were messed up by it too. They didn't seem keen on also sending feedback, but I recognize I have a Personality Type that is out of the norm (stubborn as hell and twice as obstinate. About injustice, anyways).

What. Even. Is. My. Life. I asked my partner if he'd ever had a similar experience with a work training being on an innapropriately-insensitive-about-societal-violence topic and he, knowing both sets of events and agreeing they're fucked up, was like "?Absolutely NOT." So I'm pretty sure this isn't a normal experience.

It's weird that it happened twice, right?

If anyone at [redacted] organization sees this and recognizes the scenario, please note that this is anonymized so there's no way anyone could connect this to your -- I'm sure generally lovely -- nonprofit, and also I need this job a lot. Due to said disadvantaged background featuring comically-absurd levels of childhood abuse.

[chvoswxtch]

i'm on my second rewatch of daredevil & I just finished season 2 and i have a LOT of thots about elektra so i'm going to rant under the cut so here's your warning or psa if you haven't seen the show or are in the process of watching it i am mentioning spoilers so beware !!!

first things first i feel like i need to preface with the fact that i was OBSESSED with the 2003 daredevil movie like i rented it so many times at the video store the guy working there fucking gave it to me LMAO and i remember thinking jennifer garner in that movie was THE baddest bitch and I wanted to be her so bad

that being said i fucking LOVE elektra natchios and i was so fucking beyond excited the first time i watched the show and she showed up and i especially love elodie yung's version i thought she was absolutely perfect

here's what annoyed the shit out of me though: they set her up for failure; let's get into it

i feel like a lot of people don't like her for whatever reason and i feel like a lot of that has to do with her history with matt so let me just say i think her and matt were super toxic and did not belong together because they were constantly trying to change one another and yes she did a lot of shitty things to him but she was literally "hired" by stick to ruin matt's life so that matt would come back to stick and in the end she left because she realized matt was way too good and didn't belong around her OR more importantly around stick because he would never be like either of them

from the second they introduced her in the show, they are trying to make you not like her by making her seem like this selfish entitled person who goes around ruining lives for fun. i've also seen a lot of people blame her as the reason that matt & karen never worked out but like that is straight up matt's fault in my opinion ok homeboy did that to himself

as far as morality goes, i think a lot of people gloss over the fact that elektra was literally trained to be a killer since she was a child. she was a young girl that was taken from her family, essentially thrown into a cult that brainwashed her and filled her head with horror stories about a war that was coming she needed to be ready to fight at all costs

we all know stick was an emotionally & physically abusive piece of shit (we saw the way he treated them both) but i think everyone forgets he was way worse with elektra and way harder on her and i don't know if what happened with her is what made him approach training matt differently but he was undeniably easier on matt (matt was getting pushed down in a basement, elektra was getting the shit beat out of her by grown ass men)

elektra was trained and taught to be what she was and constantly had people like stick and the hand telling her who and what she was and making her feel like she was some kind of evil monster over something that was totally out of her control

i think the only good thing that came from her and matt's relationship is that he made her believe in herself and that she could be good because he saw it in her and helped her decide who she wanted to be instead of what she was told to be

i truly think more people would like her more if she were a male character because she has a lot of the same characteristics as matt (tragic backstory, sarcastic witty drama queen, charming & overconfident, anger & daddy issues, total badass, hot) and even frank (has no problem killing when they think it's justifiable, will do whatever necessary despite the moral consequences, looks good covered in blood) which is bullshit in my humble opinion

let women go feral!!! let them be messy!! let them deal with things humanly & realistically!!!

i personally love characters like elektra natchios and jessica jones because i can relate to them like i can feel their anger and their internal conflict of being who you want vs who everyone expects you to be and drinking in excess to cope instead of dealing with your problems and having a short fuse (especially with annoying ass men who think they know better than you) and just being tragic fucking human beings trying their goddamn best

this is also why i love karen page so much because she is deeply flawed and has a dark past and acts impulsively (literally taunted fisk about killing wesley because she knew he would emotionally react like what a bad bitch) and refuses to take anyone's shit and calls everyone out when it's needed and tries so hard to do the right thing hoping it'll heal her from her mistakes

like every single one of these characters has been through so much shit and SO MUCH trauma and i just don't think it's fair to praise and accept one group for how they handle it and demonize another for doing the literal exact same thing

there was a very interesting foil in season 2 with frank & elektra that doesn't get talked about enough like frank castle owned what he was and admitted to being a loose cannon that would never stop until he got his revenge and everyone ate that shit up but elektra struggles with what she's being told she is and fights against all odds to control something inside of her that can't really be controlled and people trash her and it annoys the fucking hell out of me because it all goes back to her relationship with matt

women can be their own characters, they don't need to be plot devices used for a man's character development

in conclusion, elektra natchios is that bitch and i adore her and would absolutely love to see her (& elodie <3) come back in a future marvel project but not if they're just going to waste her incredible storyline and potential as being matt's throwaway love interest again because she is so fucking much more than that and deserves so much more than that

if you've made it this far, thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

we stan elektra natchios in this household, and I will hear no slander

these are all my opinions & if you don't like/agree with them, that's totally fine but no need to be a dick about it :)

[barbiegirldream]

Honestly most fandoms have a problem with focusing on torture porn. Like a characters already fucked up in canon and you want to read about how much worse it could have been??

And I guess it could be good if it was explored in a meaningful way. Like with Hawks, if writers did the whole "the commission are evil" thing but showed that hawks is a hero at his core and will be no matter what happens to him, as opposed to a Dabi 2.0 where he has a fucked up childhood then decides to blast the commission to hell.

Obviously making certain characters switch sides in a fic is common, but in fics hawks is either a villain or a loveable idiot, even if the commission gets exposed

(mhm I've read from sooo many characters and it just sticks out to me from Hawks's pov that it's not completely fabricated abuse but "here is what abuse I think this trafficked child faced from the people who bought him and now about how he feels about the person who hurt him worst in the world")

Like people are obsessed with having someone else save Hawks and then taking Hawks in and now he more or less works for them. I've yet to read a fic where Hawks's strength is a defining feature. Because he has his optimism and he has his endless drive. what he doesn't have is immutable motivations, ideals, or morals. he doesn't have strong emotions. he doesn't have a very defining personality. so I think in the event where a characters story is about gaining freedom that's a really hard concept for a lot people so freedom is scary and it's easier to reign him in and tie him down to another group.

instead of figuring out why would a character who is a trained weapon when they lose their handlers continue marching on the same path. what motivates him. what had an injured Hawks up out of bed almost instantly. what made a wingless Hawks take two swords into a fight against All For One.

What made a five year old Hawks raised in trash getting kicked in the back starving in the streets told he needs to get food raised among criminals decided he wouldn't steal. What made his first instinct to save strangers. What made Keigo Takami sell his name and never regret it or miss his parents. When five year old Tenko Shimura killed his abusive dad. What makes 8 year old Touya try and burn a baby to death. I think mha really buys into nature over nuture sometimes that goodness is maybe inherent to some people and not to others which I think is a very fascinating way to write a hero and villain story