#i found some nice quartz here

[aisling-saoirse]

Thompson Wash, Utah - May 20th 2023

[afkintheark]

Our kitties have been sitting out to make jerky for us and I figured I'd get a shot of my "twins" since they were both there. >.>

I was working out the exact spot for our water pen and found a little level 15 friend. Soon as Kel came down to see her it was decided she would join the otter pack. XD

Today Aras started our Base Basics event so I went out to obliterate the diplo population and found a 154 dire bear! Since our current bears are kinda low I brought him home, and while waiting for him to tame I spotted this 159 parasaur with stupidly high melee and figured why not.

And I've been having a single-player itch and wanted to get a pic of Center!Cooper so. He's not quite the right shade of blue, but he's close enough I'm happy.

[froggibus]

Rose Quartz - Venture

Pairing: Venture x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, bit of crack, one droplet of angst

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: in which Venture wants to confess their feelings for you, but keeps giving you rocks instead

CW: awkwardness, crushes, kind of unrequited love, mentions of crystals/rocks and their meanings, Venture avoiding their feelings, one (1) argument, aggressive kissing, reader calls Venture "nerd", NOT PROOFREAD

NEW BANNERS!!! IM SO EXCITED!! ive been wanting a more cohesive graphic for my posts rather than just reusing gifs, so I made these and I adore them!! first time writing about Venture and tbh it's a little juvenile but it kinda works with the theme. they're so adorable and i absolutely love them ^.^ (also happy canadian moment that they gave us an interesting canadian hero finally lol)

“Hey! Y/n! Wait up!” Heavy boots trail after Sloan’s voice, prompting you to turn around. 

“What’s up?”

They give you a toothy grin, holding up a hand to pause while they catch their breath. It’s a hot day in Petra, nearly scorching with all of the gear you have on just to enter the dig site. Even standing in the sun is enough to have you panting and sweaty. 

Sloan releases one last heavy breath and closes the last few steps between the two of you. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

They’re so close you can see the sweat shimmering across their brow, smelling that familiar earthy scent of theirs that you’ve thought about for weeks now. The sun beats down overhead and you’re sure they must be boiling under their safety equipment. 

You cock your head to the side, “what is it?”

“I just—I’ve been thinking for a while, you know? And I really thought that maybe—is it really hot out here? I’m really hot.”

You nod in agreement, cupping your hands around your eyes to block out the sun. You were just on your way back to the shuttle to your hotel room when they caught you, and you have little interest in staying in this heat. 

“I should probably get going,” you admit, “it’s boiling and I need to eat.”

Sloan agrees all too quickly. “Yeah, yeah. I—I just wanted to know,” they loose a sigh, “do you want this rock?”

You’re taken aback for only a moment as they reach out a sweaty palm with a jagged pink crystal no bigger than a dollar coin. You reach out and grab it, your fingertips brushing their hand as you do. Sloan doesn’t miss the way you shiver from the contact. 

“It’s pretty, what is it?”

Sloan scratches the back of their neck. “It’s rose quartz, I just thought you might find it pretty or something…”

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You tuck the rock into your pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…see you tomorrow.”

Sloan watches as you spin on your heel and slowly disappear into the horizon. As soon as you’re out of eyesight, they let themselves sigh in disappointment and drop to their knees. 

Confessing is much harder than they thought it would be. 

—

You hold the rose quartz the whole shuttle ride to the hotel, rolling the cold stone across your aching palms. It really is a beautiful stone, even if it serves as a physical reminder of your own disappointment. 

You thought, just for a moment, that they might feel the same way as you. That they were going to ask you on a date, at least. But you’ve thought that the past few weeks, and it’s only bred chagrin. 

The cold air of your hotel room doesn’t feel nearly as nice as it should. Your skin still feels sticky, a layer of dust stuck to the sweat from the sweltering sun you spent the day under. But it’s not the sweat or the dust that has you feeling withdrawn—it’s the sight of the stones lining your night table. 

You place the rose quartz at the end of a line of eight stones, admiring them all together. It’s a beautiful array of clear, pink and green stones. Some are smooth—like they’ve already been tumbled—and others are jagged, found raw and expertly cut from the rock they once formed in. 

Your favourite, given to you just a few days ago, was a raw piece of rhodochrosite. Sloan had a big grin when they gave it to you, the stone warm from them holding it in their palm for so long.

You roll the stone in your palm for only a moment before ordering your usual room service, shrugging off your clothes and going to take a shower. The cold water feels amazing on your skin, washing the heat and shame of the day down the drain. For the time you’re in the shower, you hardly even think about Sloan or the collection of rocks starting to accumulate. 

You only get out when your phone buzzes with the usual courtesy notification letting you know the room service cart is on its way up to you. The air conditioning feels much better after showering, chilling the bite of your skin. You dress quickly in pyjamas and get to the door just in time to let in the kind lady with your dinner.

It’s the same woman as the last few nights—an older lady with a dazzling smile that she flashes at you as she crosses the threshold into your room.

“Same as usual?” She prompts while she lays out the dishes on the small table in the corner.

“You know it.”

She finishes laying out your spread, the delicious scent nearly making your mouth water, before grabbing the cart and starting to back out of the room. She pauses just as she gets past your nightstand, her eyes flicking over the array of stones.

“Well, aren’t those pretty.” You smile in agreement, “they are, aren’t they?”

“Lots of love stones,” she says. “Were they gifted to you?”

“Love stones?”

“Yes,” she nods, “like rose quartz, and rhodochrosite. They represent love in certain practices.”

The information is like a slap in the face, leaving you so dazed that you forget to thank the woman as she leaves your room. Love stones? Why would Sloan be giving you love stones?

You’re near frantic as you collect all of the stones into your hand, forgetting your shoes as you burst out of your hotel room and storm down the hall to Sloan’s. You’re not sure if they’re even back from the site yet, or what you’ll say to them when you get to their room—all you’re sure of is that you want to know why they gave you the stones. The real reason.

Sloan is utterly confused when they open their door to see you there, hair wet and dressed in pyjamas with no shoes, holding out a handful of rocks. “Hi?”

“Why did you give these to me?”

Sloan swallows, dark eyes examining the stones clutched in your palm. “I just thought you’d like them.” A lie, a complete and utter lie.

They curse themselves for being such a coward and not confessing sooner—but you’re just so cute, and they like you so much, and they felt so damn awkward trying to tell you they liked you. Except now, with you standing so close to them, water dripping from your hair and rendering your pyjama top near see-thru, they feel much more awkward.

“Just because you thought I’d like them?” You’re breathing hard, eyebrows knit together in confusion, “or because they’re apparently ‘love stones’, whatever that means.”

From the way their mouth hangs open, you know you’ve caught them.

“Listen, I—I—”

You cut them off, “did you know what the meanings were when you gave them to me?”

“Yes,” they sigh defeatedly. “But I thought you knew!”

“Of course I didn’t know!”

Sloan peers down the hall, hoping no one is around to hear your rising voices. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Why? So you can keep leading me in circles, so I can keep wondering why you don’t feel the same way as I do?” The words come out before you can stop them, even the hand you clamp over your mouth doing nothing to keep them in.

Sloan’s shoulders sag. “I wasn’t leading you in circles.”

“Weren’t you?” You shake your head, turning away from them. “You just wanted to hide behind a bunch of rocks forever.”

“Y/n, wait!”

You shake your head, starting to walk away. You don’t get far, as Sloan grabs your shoulder and spins you to face them. You have no time to react as they grab the back of your head and shove your face into theirs.

The second their lips meet yours, all of the built up disappointment from the past few weeks melts away. You relax into their touch, letting their calloused fingers tangle in your hair. They taste citrusy, over just a hint of salt, and electrify you like a shot of tequila.

You pull away breathlessly, looking at them over your lashes. They’re smirking like an idiot, eyes practically sparkling.

“Still think I’m leading you in circles?”

You rest your hand on their waist, pulling them back to you in desperation. “Shut up and kiss me again, nerd.”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[thebadboyfanclub]

You Little Traitor (Aegon x Reader)

Look I do not think this is some of my best word but it has so much potential to be a interesting story and if you think so as well please let me know cause I would love to write a part two for this

The Yi Ti empire could put Kings Landing to shame, one of the most ancient civilizations, maesters would kill to be able to be accepted there and learn for the YiTish healers, the land of gold was what it was known not only for the actual riches but for its excellency in any aspect.

A century had passed since the long night and now ruled the Quartz emperor, the king ruled with the best interest at heart, to keep the peace among his subjects and do the very best for them.

The selenite princess, his second-born child, (y/n) was his way to reach further than any other emperor, to unite his kingdom with the seven kingdoms and his daughter to be a princess of not only his empire but to bless her with a legacy beyond his borders.

“Thank you, Father, I hope the ancestors bless me with a fruitful marriage”

She had simply said with a ghost of a smile when the news was announced of her long travel to the red keep, to meet the Targaryen family to marry Prince Aegon, her mother responded by placing a kiss on her forehead, her mother was the most endearing amongst (y/n)s parents, still not even her mother could protect her from the fate of wedlock, she had been prepared to face her future of being born a female with a stiff lip and kind eyes.

It wasn’t just a declaration of peace that her father was sending his daughter off to marriage for, the Yi Ti empire had kept an ear close to the seven kingdoms and Rhaenyra Targaryen was the first queen of her nation that stood a breath away from her throne, Aegon was a son, the second born child, her father wanted to prevent a nation from experiencing “the long night”.

“The Selenite Naishinno of the Yi Ti Empire, second-born child of the Quartz emperor”

Naishinno was what they called “princess”, it was a nice sensation to hear that the Targaryens respected her family enough to learn their version of lineage, even if it was out of fear and dare (y/n) say, desperation.

Aegon stood by his mother's side while (y/n) entered the throne room, he had to admit she was certainly captivating, she wore an astonishing attire from her homeland in the intense colour of red, and some of her hair was pulled up in a delicate style with intricate accessories, her face was emotionless, like a knight that went to battle, though Aegon found her to be intriguing, he had never met a YiTish lady before, “at least the bedding ceremony will have some interest” he cheekily thought.

“Princess, it is an honor to welcome you into my family”

“You are very kind King Viserys, my father wanted me to inform you that he apologizes for not being here, he sends his greetings and regards”

“We understand your empire needed its emperor, I surely do hope that we will see him at the wedding feast”

“Of course, along with most of the people from our palace, it will be a big celebration, may I ask, where is Princess Rhaenyra”

“That would be me, Naishinno”

“Princess, you may approach”

(Y/n) did not mean for it to sound like a command, she was just used to having to allow people to come closer, although the sentence left a sour taste in Daemon's mouth since this was their kingdom, Aegon only smirked, no one had spoken down to his sister, even if it was with such elegance.

Rhaenyra walked towards the young girl, intrigued by the sudden interest in her, when she stood before her (y/n) appeared to be... smiling one would say although small still a bit evident.

“We have heard of you, the first queen to ever be, my father wanted me to let you know that the Yi Ti empire stands with you, I pray that the Targaryen house will not know the monstrosity that is a brother and a sister going to war”

(Y/n) curtsied before Rhaenyra who felt more pride than ever, if she had the YiTish with her then she did not need anyone else, with them alone she could stand against anybody.

Out of pure excitement, Rhaenyra reached for the girl's hand to firmly grasp it and kissed her cheeks gently, (y/n) nodded in approval of their sacred oath, no blood should be spilled after the union of two strong Kingdoms.

“Will you be so kind as to show me your brother, the prince”

“Aegon”

Rhaenyra called for him without even turning her head away from the princess, she did not care for her brother or anything regarding him she was saddened that she could not have a further conversation with (y/n).

Aegon took only one step to stand out from his other siblings and mother, (y/n)s eyes found him almost immediately and she took a step forward as well, a small curtsy also occurred by her before she smiled brightly, somehow even when the princess was being perfectly polite and respectful Aegon could not help but shift from one feet to the other, it was like she was sizing him up, he had to put all his might into not taking a step back from her since the it would seem disrespectful when the only thing she was doing was smile.

“It is an honor to meet you, if it is not too much to ask, I would like to spend some time alone with the prince”

“Of course, let us leave them to get to know each other, just call for the guards and they will escort you to your chamber”

“Thank you, queen Alicent”

(Y/n) could barely call them by their titles, she did not recognize their authority, let alone say “my” before them, she resided in them considering it as just a translation mistake from her side, thought (y/n) spoke their language since she was a toddler.

Once everyone left the room the aura suddenly changed, two strangers stood staring at one another, not knowing what to say or do on this occasion.

“I have to say-“

“I do not care what lie you have been tutored to throw at me, my trip was days long so I will make this short, I am sure you agreed on this betrothal for the same reason I did, duty. I shall marry you and play my part as a bestowing wife, I ask of you to do the same while in public, you may do as you wish in private”

“As I wish?”

“I am not an idiot, Prince Aegon, I have asked about you and your habits of scattering bastards around Kings Landing, you can continue to do so on only one condition”

“Which is?”

“Leave me be, do not search for my chamber whole drunk, do not bother me, we will communicate only when necessary, how does that sound?”

“Perfect”

The selenite princess was wed to Prince Aegon in front of the masses, a celebration that would have the maesters of the future run back to it with fascination, her golden dress was custom-made by the people of the Yi Ti, she had only stayed for a few days and yet the luxurious habits of hers had queen Alicent baffled, the princess was spoiled and she seemed to not have in mind of stopping any time soon, her chamber smelled of incense that she brought, she only accepted to be tended to by her chamber maids, she refused to wear anything else other than the dresses she had brought, it was the first time in a while that Alicent felt backed in a corner by merely a presence of someone.

The night had already spread its beautiful cloak of stars along with its magnificent full moon, (y/n) had always been in tune with the majestic presence of the night hence her name, she struggled to fall asleep every time the moon was full, it seemed she was not alone this time, a dragon kept roaring and screaming in the distance, a part of hers was shaking with curiosity, like an instinct that the dragon was summoning her.

“Take me to the dragon pit”

“Princess, it is forbidden?”

“I do not recognize that word, not because of the foreign language but because you do not have the authority to utter it to me, I want to go to the dragon pit now”

The guards were nothing but mere subjects at the board game that she had set, how could they object to the empress's daughter? The prince's wife? The selenite princess stood before them and they must obey.

The guards could swear that all reality lost its meaning when the princess stepped foot in the dragon pit, Sunfyre had slowly emerged from the darkness and roared loud enough to shake the walls, whilst everyone ducked from fear (y/n) was perfectly still, she was her ever defiant self and did not even bat an eye.

“Hello there, you have caused quite a stir dear”

“Princess, may I suggest you step back? Sunfire does not take well with strangers”

“I am fine, sunfyre won’t hurt me, will you? My little pet?”

The dragon responded by coming closer to the princess and sniffing her around, after a few deep huffs the dragon laid down by the princess's side nudging her hand so she can caress him.

(Y/n) felt completely comfortable with the creature, she was always fascinated when she saw them fly up in the sky, her culture is defined by dragons, so it wasn’t a surprise that the actual creature took a liking to her.

“He is a sweet little boy, your skin is a little dry, we need to take care of that you are not getting any younger, sweetling”

(Y/n) spend most of her time in the dragon pit after that encounter, she would have her tea with Sunfyre and throw a few raw stakes at the beast to enjoy while she blabbered about whatever was occupying her mind that day, the dragon keepers did not know what to make of it, Sunfyre had only bonded with prince Aegon, now the fearsome beast was seen almost purring like a cat while (y/n) laid on his back and let her hand pet him with endearment, she would often drift to sleep while on dragon back.

“I do not know Sunfyre, mayhaps it was a mistake, telling him to keep on with his business, if I tried a bit harder things might end up different, he is not a bad guy he is just… sad, I see sadness in him. What do you think?”

Sunfyre only made a few sounds after (y/n) spoke to him in her YiTish dialect, the dragon keepers stood on the side in awe at the scene that unfolded, usually the dragons only understood Valyrian, albeit to sunfyre YiTish seemed to cast a spell of slumber, a lullaby only for the beast to enjoy.

“Of course, you would say that he is your rider after all”

“Where is the princess? Oh Gods, get the princess down from there!”

Sunfyre lifted its head from the ground when Queen Alicent commanded the guards to take her away, the ear-splitting sound that Sunfyre pushed out was enough to bring the queen a generous amount of steps back while (y/n) only brought her arms out to hug him to reassure the dragon.

“It is alright Sunfyre, the queen meant no harm”

She placed a kiss on the dragon's skin before Sunfyre relaxed back down for the princess to slide to the ground like she had done this a thousand times, (y/n) landed perfectly on her feet and fixed her dress in preparation for a dress the queen.

“What seems to be so important that you had to interrupt my time with my companion queen Alicent?”

Queen Alicent was at a loss of words, baffled by the princess being so casual about her bonding with none other than Sunfyre, dragons never seemed to obey or even tolerate anyone other than the person that has claimed it, how did (y/n) achieve this?

-

“Where are you going?”

“Well, that is surprising, for a walk, in what do I owe the interest my dearest love?”

“Drop the act alright and the lies, a little birdie told me you have been getting… cozy with something that belongs to me”

“Does that birdie wear a crown, has long red hair, and favors the color green? I know it must come to you as a shock but yes, Sunfyre has been a better husband than you as of late”

Aegon and (y/n) had an odd dynamic, she did not despise him but she did find his way of life distasteful, to say the least.

of course (y/n) was the one that nudged him to continue as of nothing had happened, however, a side of her had longed for Aegon to pay attention to her instead of spreading his seed on ever whore house, making it harder for (y/n) to keep track of all his bastards that she secretly took great care of, making sure they were all fed and clothed, how could she turn a blind eye to a child that was created by Aegon? Maybe they would be something better than their father if they were shown some kindness.

“So it is true, you dared to approach my dragon?”

“Sunfyre was in much need of my companion as I required his, seemed to me like you have neglected the poor little thing”

“Little thing? Never mind, well then, I would like to see it, Mother said she found you hugging it”

“Are you jealous Aegon? If you crave a hug I would gladly give you one, come here sweet boy”

“Stop that and walk”

He commanded making her giggle at how uncomfortable he had gotten, Aegon wasn’t the affectionate type, well if you do not count the time he came to her chambers after a quarrel with his mother, he was shaking like a leaf and stumbling over his words, he had laid on her chest while she ran her fingers through his hair until he drifted off, tears of his hand stained her nightgown while his hand held her for dear life.

Thats the night (y/n) started to soften, to take into consideration a life of love and offspring even, Aegon had been a skilled lover, he had the moves but the emotion wasn’t there when they laid together those few times, (y/n) scattered her brain for an idea to approach him though it led nowhere, they had zero common interests.

“Good evening to you my precious love”

(Y/n) responded to Sunfyres sounds as he flapped his wings and moved its head, (y/n) left Aegons side to walk faster to approach the dragon first, Sunfyre leaned its head for (y/n) to place a kiss at the very top of his nose, Aegon halted at the sight, somewhat betrayed by Sunfyre acting like a little puppy for the princess.

“How are you today? Have you been a good boy? Of course, you have”

(Y/n) reached as far as she could scratch the side of Sunfyres's head and the dragons' response was intricate sounds that someone could mistake for a purring of a cat or any other pet, not a giant killing beast that could swallow her for dinner.

(Y/n) laughed carelessly as she had almost forgotten Aegon had escorted her here, her attention was fully on the beautiful Sunfyre that was in desperate need of petting and babying.

“You little traitor”

Aegon whispered in Valyrian as he was still lost in a trance over his wife who did not correlate dragons had made a kitten out of Sunfyre, the only thing missing was a pretty little collar over his neck with a bell to be an obedient house cat of hers.

“I do not understand why everyone is so shocked, my family did not need to ride dragons, we simply are dragons, Sunfyre recognizes that”

“Is that so? Does that mean we have to chain you up and teach you how to obey as well?”

“You can try”

Aegon loved his wife, it might sound like a lie but he did, she was kind in her way, generous in a way, and adorable in her way, everything he loved about her was because she did it her way, howbeit he did not know how to love her in any way, he grew up around a father that wanted him until he got him and a mother that did everything she was taught to do even though she did not want it, even a rose needs proper soil to grow.

Yet, at that moment that Aegon gazed upon (y/n) who was coping at his dragon and bopping its nose he started to ponder, mayhaps she can be the soul of their rose.

“Sunfyre is a dragon, he does not need a kiss on its nose that’s the size of your head nor does he need head scratches”

“He does since he favors me even though you are standing right here, perhaps instead of putting me in chains I can teach you a thing or two”

It was the first time in a while that Aegon and (y/n) laughed together, Sunfyre had probably sensed the aura switching to a bit more intimate so he chose to nudge (y/n) from the back closer to Aegon making her yelp and glare back at the dragon who only turned away from her, Aegon smiled at her as they awkwardly stood ahead of one and the other.

“How about a ride? I must be honest that I haven’t taken Sunfyre out of the dragon pit for a good chunk of time”

“A ride sounds lovely, how about it sweet pie?”

“Must I call my striking dragon sweet-pie or does he still listen to Sunfyre?”

“I believe it is a privilege you haven’t earned to call him Sweetpie, you and he are still on proper name terms”

“Ouch I must admit I am wounded”

“You will get over it, now can you still recall how to get up on my dear friend or should I go first”

“You know my mother taught me to never take advantage of a situation just so I can admire a woman’s beauty from another angle… thankfully I never listened to her so off you go”

Requests are open!

[deathmetalangel]

Helo! It's me again '^^

I loved your "Bad Joke" hcs so much that I want to request another bunch of headcanons for this cartoon! (Only if you want tho-)

What about some platonic headcanons of Rose Quartz, garnet, pearl, amethist and Steven (sepparetly if it's possible) reacting to a fem!gem! reader who is 13 years old (yeah, I'm obsessed with fem early teen readers) puffing herself for 3 weeks due to sadness because she felt unwanted.

You can totally ignore this request if it makes you uncomfortable or if the topic is triggering! Have a nice day/night!

POOFING HEADCANONS (GEMS X FEM! READER/PLATONIC)

warnings: slightly depressive talk, abandonment issues if you squint, kind of angsty but not really?

y/n wasn’t as strong as her older companions, and thus wasn’t involved in as many missions or brought along all the time. that feeling can make anyone feel very unwanted. and sometimes desolated.

tysm for liking my writings and requesting. i’m really glad you liked the last headcanons :3 i hope these are just as good.

ROSE QUARTZ

- when y/n first poofed rose thought she had just run off

- perhaps she wanted a break from everyone

- eventually after not long of looking she finds her gem hidden away

- rose is so worried! how could she not have noticed

- keeps her gem with her at all times waiting for her to reform

- when she does rose’s motherly instincts kick in and she just hugs her so tight

- “i’m so sorry! why on earth would you do such a thing.”

- and when y/n explains her feelings rose is on the brink of tears

- how could she have failed as a leader to make her youngest recruit feel unwanted

- goes on for hours explaining why y/n is wanted and why she’s a valuable part of the team

- “you’re so strong and funny! what would we do without you y/n? not even just battle, what would we do around the temple without you. i love seeing you everyday y/n. i want to help you grow and change and embrace earth!”

- rose is a sap and they both cry together (she mostly cried because y/n was crying and she was wanted her to feel better)

GARNET

- of course she noticed her change in behavior

- how dejected she would get when her and steven had to stay behind

- but the infinite possibilities sapphire foretold never considered this path

- steven had found y/n’s gem and quickly brought it to garnet

- she is so so worried how could her future vision fail her

- she had become your mother in a way and this just broke her heart

- carefully kept her gem in her room, which no one ever entered, and counted the days she remained in her gem

- when she inevitably reformed garnet was struggling to hold herself together because she immediately began crying

- sapphire was scolding herself while ruby just wanted to help

- allows her to take her time before coaxing her out of the ball she had curled into

- when y/n explains garnet carefully removes her visor

- “i don’t care what you think, you are never unwanted here. you’re apart of the crystal gems even if we can’t always bring you along. i was only trying to protect you. i’m sorry y/n.”

- when she hugs her garnet cries even more

- she was so worried, but she was so glad y/n was back

- “you and steven are important to all of us, so please keep yourself safe. when you’ve trained more you’ll be on every single one of our missions i promise.”

PEARL

- pearl had a busy schedule almost all the time

- but she did take notice of y/n’s absence rather quickly

- pearl panics when steven is out of her eyes sight for a minute, but she really gets anxious when she hasn’t seen her in hours

- when she finds y/n’s gem she freaks out

- places it on a pillow and watches anxiously sort of like steven did when she got poofed

- pearl genuinely stayed in her room almost the whole time waiting for y/n to reform

- when she does she cries so much

- “y/n! what happened?”

- explaining everything made pearl feel so guilty

- “why would you ever think that? we all love you so much y/n. i’m sorry if i get sidetracked or overly indulged in my work, but i promise you that you’re never unwanted.”

- she cries in pearls arms while pearl ugly cries

- she was just genuinely afraid of loosing y/n like she did rose

AMETHYST

- amethyst would never say she was worried about y/n, but yeah she was always concerned

- she just always seemed distant

- amethyst tried her best to make her feel included

- when she finds her gem amethyst is so mad

- not at y/n, but at everyone else

- “how could you guys not see what was happening? even i seen it! this happened because you guys failed to make her feel like she was apart of the team!”

- she knows the feeling of not being wanted very well

- amethyst was very anxious waiting for y/n to reform

- especially as the weeks started to drag on and on

- when she does reform amethyst does not let her out of her bear hug

- “i’m not gonna say i don’t get it, i do. but y/n, you gotta believe me when i say that you are wanted here. the other gems just get busy with dumb stuff they forget about us sometimes. but even if pearl and garnet are busy, you still have me.”

- they are inseparable from then on

STEVEN

- steven is very oblivious, he’s a kid obviously

- but when he finds y/n’s gem he doesn’t stop crying

- worse than when he cried over snakes

- “pearl bring her back. please.”

- when the gems tell him that he has to wait on her to reform he cries more

- does not leave her gem alone

- even when garnet tries to tell him to give y/n space and time he refuses

- when she reforms steven starts crying again

- “what happened?!”

- hugs her so tight while he cries

- “what do you mean you feel unwanted, i want you here all the time y/n.”

- he doesn’t fully get it, he’s used to feeling belittled but not unwanted yk

- “i promise y/n you will never ever feel like that again. i’m so sorry.”

- now she starts crying because he’s crying so much

- but it did make her feel better after

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

Writing about Mines in your Fictional Universe: A Geology Introduction

Hello! I'm Bird, and I am here to guide you on a journey about different mines that exist, what materials are being mined, what those materials might be mined for, and what rocks/what processes might make these areas mineable. I will also touch briefly on the idea of gem quality, the commonness of the material, and what these things might look like fresh out of the dirt!

First things first, lets talk about the what types of things we might want to mine for in a fictional universe! There are a lot of things that are used daily that require mining, but there are a few that I see written about the most: Gold, Gemstones, Iron, and Coal. I personally would love to see this idea expanded on a bit, so lets talk about some mines that would definitely be necessary but overlooked! First one is pretty easy, glass! those beautiful stained glass windows are useless if no one is mining quartz to be made to glass, and I imagine it would be quite a profitable business seeing as glass, in general, was a luxury in ye olden times. The next thing we need to address is Abrasives! want to sand and polish stone and metal? Want to sharpen your blades for battle? May I introduce you to abrasive minerals! garnet, corundum (Ruby and Sapphire), and yes, diamond! Why are we using such beautiful gemstones to polish other things? Simple, even if you are to find a deposit of these gemstones (garnet being one of the more common ones) most of the time they are inclusion rich, ridiculously small, an undesirable color, or all three of these.

Finding gemstones that are good quality is hard, your character will not stumble upon it, pick up the rock and immediately know if the location is good enough to mine gemstones. If you are determined to make it a gemstone mine, have your character hold the mineral up to the sun/a light source and let them be able to see light coming through, though it is considerably thick.

Moving into metal mining! Metal mining is both easier and more complicated to write! Why is it complicated? Because unless it is gold or silver you are unlikely to see the desired metal itself. Why is it easy? welllll, I am going to try to make it easy. First things first, a lot of metals are chromaphores, this means that when the element is present, it will influence the color! Copper is an excellent example of this, old pennies oxidize and turn blue/teal/green, so do most rocks bearing copper! Looking for iron? It will probably stain the rocks dingy and brownish red. Things to note: copper and iron can be found in mineable amounts together! If you do this, iron will be present in the form of pyrite, or fool's gold, this has a nice cubic shape and can be described as such, the copper will typically leave a teal residue or veining across the rock, which in this case will almost exclusively be black to dark gray (Its basalt) but it can be found as the mineral chalcopyrite also (looks like fool's gold but it doesn't make cute crystals). Malachite is also a copper ore, in my experience I have never seen malachite from a mine that has looked like some of the stuff I have seen in gem shops, azurite (A darker blue mineral) can be present also, but again, these are usually very fine grained and would not be able to be used as jewelry, but obviously, in some places it must happen, just much less frequently.

Another thing I will briefly mention is that, if you are writing about metals remember that these metals will require a smelting process to extract a pure metal, this usually requires some other material (For iron, it is charcoal). Also remember alloys! Most useable metals are a mix of different metals to make them harder. This even includes gold jewelry. Last comment about metals, a very interesting plot for a fictional universe would be the use of lead. Lead ore was a hot commodity before we knew it was toxic, the side effects (Being nuts) could really create some tension.

Lastly in terms of mined material, I will briefly mention coal and stone in general just to say, coal is a sedimentary rock, distinctly different from the typical environments necessary to form most gemstones and heavy metal deposits (Yes, there are exceptions). Coal is dark black/gray, which is quite uncommon for sedimentary rocks which tend to range from reds/tans/browns/grays. When coal is lifted it will feel much lighter than you anticipate, which is the polar opposite of what happens when you lift a metal rich rock, which will feel immensely heavy. Finally, Coal will not turn into diamonds in nature, diamonds need mantle pressures and temperatures to form, there will be no diamonds under a coal mine unless there was a mantle derived eruption that got covered in a swamp, that became coal and as they dug they exposed the kimberlite pipe (I mention this because I just read this in a story and it hurt my feelings). Finally, If you want to write about a mine that is definitely necessary but want the content to be pretty low-maintenance, but profitable for whoever owns it, owning a granite/marble/ or really any desirable stone quarry would be perfect.

Now I will move onto what kind of mining exists today, I will not talk about every exclusive mine, but I will talk about ones that are common that are on my radar. First up, the one everyone talks about in books, underground mining. Underground mining is used when you are getting the material from the 'primary'/original source. The rock is rich in copper? Lets mine said rock. However, mining underground is the most dangerous form of mining, there can easily be a lack of oxygen because of insufficient ventilation (That's why people will carry something with an open flame when going into abandoned mines; if the flame goes out there is not enough oxygen and you have to turn back). There can also be lots of collapses due to overhead rocks, enough said. Cave mining is primarily done when the amount of rock above the deposit is too great to strip mine.

Now lets talk about strip mining! Strip mining is when you just mine on the surface, and dig deeper and deeper into the ground to obtain your desired resource whether it be stone, coal, gemstones, or anything else. It truly is less glamorous, but it is safer than digging a tunnel. That said it has its own issues, sure the oxygen is good, and you don't have to worry about the rocks collapsing over your head, but oh wait, the rocks can collapse over your head. Landslides can occur due to the over steepening of sides, excessive rainfall, and most importantly, old faults or planes of weakness that happen to be facing towards the mine (the diagram will help this make sense). Both of these types of mines can also create ecological damage, which can be mitigated nowadays, but then maybe not so much. Namely acid mine drainage, I will not talk much on the effects but a quick google search will give you plenty of information that might be useful for writing.

Now both of these are trying to mine a targeted rock, but sometimes its best to let nature do the work so we can do less. Diamonds, gold, corundum (rubies/sapphires), and garnets all have one thing in common. They are dense! So when erosion happens, and that sediment makes its way into a river, everything will separate based on its density. This is just because faster moving water can hold heavier sediments, and slower moving water will drop those heavy sediments leaving only the lighter sediments within the water. Lots of places that mine the things listed above will pan/sieve in active rivers and streams, or they can surface mine where rivers and streams used to be! These are called placer deposits. There is one setback though, the gemstones will not be perfect crystal shaped, they will be rounded due to being thrown around in a river (like beach glass). These are sapphires, but they have been rounded over time in the river.

Final thoughts, writing about a mine can seem nerve-racking, intimidating, or just something that you want to briefly mention and move on from, but truly I think going into the weeds could really add something to a story! Even if stories are slightly inaccurate about information, I am still 100x more excited to see it mentioned in more detail than to see it as a sentence. Besides it is fantasy, it doesn't always have to be exactly like earth.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 7: Final Tribute]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I am wishing a very Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all of you and your support of this fic. Only 1 more chapter left! 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, violence, babies, dad!Aemond, show events, drama at dinner, sexual content, witchcraft, death and destruction, dragons, a very very long chapter so maybe plan for a snack break...might I suggest a nice roasted pig??

Word count: 10.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz​ @liathelioness​ @mirandastuckinthe80s​ @haezen​ @fairaardirascenarios​ @darkened-writer​ @weepingfashionwritingplaid​ @signyvenetia​ @abrielleholland​ @crossingallmine​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @yummycastiel​ @lol-im-done​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @nomugglesallowed​ @witchmoon​ @yoshiplushie​  @torchbearerkyle​ @sweetashoneyhoney​ @quartzs-posts​ @lauraneedstochill​ @nctma15​ @queenofshinigamis​ @rapoficeandfire​ @hinata7346​ @curiouser-an-curiouser​ @meadowofsinfulthoughts​ @imjustboredso​ @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine​ @myspotofcraziness​ @bregarc​ @mikariell95​ @doingfondue​ @justconfusedperiod​ @mommyslittlewarcriminal​ @graykageyama​

Aemond holds her so that her feet can skim the warm, sun-sparkling surf. Laurel smiles, squeals merrily, makes ineffectual little kicks. She gawks down at the water with eyes that seem to fill up her whole face. She is scrawny still—no matter how much she is fed she remains small, much smaller than other infants her age—but tough and dauntless. She rarely cries. She reaches for everything. She watches you with those enormous eyes that hold an eerie sort of awareness, a stoicism that comes from something, somewhere, that predates her two short months in this world. It should not surprise you that she is a rare sort of child. She is built of bloodlines that run thick with magic.

Jaehaera and Maelor are constructing a sandcastle, decorated with stones and shells and flags made of driftwood speared through strips of dried seaweed. The handmaidens are attempting to prevent an irate Jaehaerys from stomping it into rubble. Helaena is staring out into the ocean towards Bearstone, her face grim and remote. Gulls swoop and squawk overhead. The end of the day is golden and hot and perfect; the sun is sinking rapidly into the horizon.

Aemond straightens, cradles Laurel to his chest with one arm, and offers her a small pink cat’s paw seashell. She clutches it, considers it, tries to eat it. Aemond laughs and takes the shell away, tossing it back into the waves. Laurel begins to fuss in protest, but settles when he kisses her short silver hair and soothes her like he always does: “Shh, shh, lykiri, shh.” She peers up at him and bats at his eyepatch with her tiny fist. When you are in private, he goes without it so she can get used to his sapphire, his scar; she is entranced by the cool blue glow, finding only beauty in what some would call monstrous.

A maester appears, ambling with some difficulty across the sand to meet the prince. You take Laurel from Aemond so he can receive the scroll. He unrolls the parchment and reads it, his brow furrowed.

“Who have you been colluding with?” you tease. “Your maester friends in Dorne?”

“Something like that.” He stows the scroll away in his tunic. His boots sink into the wet sand like a punctured ship into the depths. The wind gusting in off the sea tears at his long hair. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. Laurel grabs at your moonstone pendant.

Far above in the orange-indigo sky, there is a flash of crimson and a shrill, clicking sort of shriek. The handmaidens gasp and duck their heads. You look up to see a dragon soaring over the walls of the Red Keep: blood-red, lithe, lightning-quick, unapologetically lethal. You’ve only ever heard of one dragon that fits that description. Caraxes. Daemon. You turn back to Aemond.

“They’re here,” he says simply.

“Since when?”

“Since this afternoon. I saw Jace and Luke in the courtyard. They did not accept my invitation to train.”

“And have they grown up to be…” you begin. Aemond smiles, dimples springing up in his cheeks; he already knows what you’re going to say. You are a book he has poured over for nearly a year. For the first time, you wonder if he’s memorized the rhythm of your footsteps, the lines of your shoulders, the slope of your jaw. You wonder if you have any new pages left for him to read. “Strong boys?”

“I wouldn’t say they’ve grown very much at all.”

“Why are they in King’s Landing?” Rhaenyra has been biding her time on Dragonstone for six years; it must have taken something truly urgent to lure her back into such an unfriendly court.

“Vaemond Velaryon has disputed Luke’s claim to Driftmark. His grounds are…obvious. The boys aren’t Laenor’s, thus they cannot inherit his titles. Rhaenyra has come seeking judgment in her favor.”

“Very interesting. Best of luck to her.”

“I wouldn’t be too optimistic. Otto and my mother are the ones doing the judging.” He lifts your chin, kisses you, nudges his nose playfully against yours. He has been like this since you had the baby: attentive, affectionate, but chaste. He does not touch you with heat, with lust. And at first, that had been more than alright; you were recovering, and then you were consumed with caring for Laurel—always so small, always so spellbinding—and even now you are only just beginning to feel like yourself again. Yet there are moments when you catch glimpses of that familiar, animalistic longing in your thoughts, your body: a memory here, a twinge of yearning there. That part of yourself is waking up like embers fueled with fresh air. You hope that Aemond still desires you in the same way he once did. You hope that when your flesh reunites you will not disappoint him. Now, he studies your face. “Do you pity them? The bastards?”

“I don’t blame them for who their father is, they cannot help that. I do blame them for what they did to you. What they have never atoned for.”

“Well, we will soon have the pleasure of seeing them humiliated,” he says brightly. “Tomorrow. In the Great Hall.”

“I’ll dress for a bloodbath.”

He chuckles, touching his lips to your forehead. “I’ll meet you upstairs. I need to send a raven first.”

You and Helaena take the children inside: you rocking Laurel to sleep in your arms, Helaena carrying an almost-too-heavy Maelor on her hip, Jaehaera trotting along beside her, Jaehaerys trying to clomp on people’s heels. The exasperated handmaidens struggle to corral him as you glide through the hallways towards the royal family’s chambers. Helaena is telling you about the web patterns of spiders when you round a corner to find an unfamiliar face.

She’s Princess Rhaenyra, she has to be. She has white hair and pale eyes and wears the black and red of House Targaryen. And yet, she is different than you had imagined her; she is regal but soft somehow, placid, subdued, some might even say diminished. She does not look like someone who would carry on a torrid, profoundly reckless affair. She does not look like a woman who would set the realm ablaze for a chance at the Iron Throne. Perhaps motherhood has smoothed over her roughest edges; perhaps suffering has humbled her.

You stare at each other in the middle of the hushed hallway—you flanked by Helaena and the handmaidens, Rhaenyra accompanied by two girls who can only be Daemon’s daughters by Laena Velaryon—and try to think of something to say. At last, Rhaenyra’s gaze drops to Laurel, bundled in a blanket stitched with a green dragon.

“Oh, she’s a brand new little thing! Might I see her?”

You do not relinquish your daughter, but you position her so Rhaenyra can get a better look. She stirs and stretches but does not wake.

“A darling,” the princess declares diplomatically. Her eyes linger on the baby’s silvery hair. “What do you call her?”

“Laurel.”

Rhaenyra smiles, just barely, as if she’s won a victory. And for the first time you see the venom in her. “Not a Targaryen name, that’s for certain.” She lays a hand on her pregnant belly. “We are expecting another in a few months’ time. After five sons, I am convinced this one is a girl at last. We plan to call her Visenya.”

It occurs to you how many things you have in common: mothers lost in childbirth, arranged and dispassionate first marriages, tenacity, magic, merciless love for a Targaryen man. And yet here you stand on opposite sides of a gaping chasm. “Congratulations.” What else can one say?

“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Rhaenyra asks. “When you realize what you’d do for your children.”

“Yes. I think if someone cut out her eye, I’d burn them alive.”

The princess blinks at you, stunned; and there is a moment when it is possible to unravel these generational knots of resentment and bloodletting ambition. There is a version of this exchange in which Rhaenyra apologizes for what happened to Aemond, for her callousness that night, for prizing a single lie above untold lives, for wielding her father’s fondness for her like a blade with which to cut others’ heads off. She considers it, surely; and instead she hardens, sharpens, grows claws and fangs. “I have heard of you, Lady Mormont. You’ve reached very high.”

“And you’ve stooped low.”

Rhaenyra blows by you like a storm wind, her footsteps echoing through the hallway. One of Daemon’s daughters bows her head demurely, but the other—Baela, you think her name is—flings you a glare of prideful, poisonous malice. She is very much Daemon Targaryen’s daughter. She is the type of woman who Aemond might say he’d met his match in, had they been born into different circumstances.

You can hear voices rising throughout the Red Keep. The handmaidens are gossiping frenetically among themselves. Jaehaerys growls and kicks at the wall. Beyond the glass windows, rain starts to fall and thunder booms. In your arms, Laurel begins to cry.

“He comes home late, covered in rain,” Helaena murmurs, looking at fingernails she’s chewed down to the quick.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your dresses are a kaleidoscope of gemstones: ruby, onyx, emerald, turquoise, rose quartz, pearl, tiger’s eye, sapphire, moonstone. On your vanity are pieces of jewelry to match. There are also twenty-seven blue winter roses, dried into shriveled, perpetual life and kept in a white vase.

“You should wear your namesake,” Aemond says. He stands behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You smile at each other in the mirror’s reflection. He is in good spirits, eager, proud. A part of that is the shame that Rhaenyra and her sons are sure to suffer. A part of that is his own prowess: his swordsmanship, his intellect, his dragon. And, you have come to realize, a part of it is you as well. He is impatient to show you off. You have no eminent blood relatives, no wealth, no sons…and yet to Aemond you are a fortune. You choose a billowing, ethereal gown that sparkles when sunlight hits the fabric. Your husband weaves matching chains of moonstones into your hair.

You enter the Great Hall with the rest of the Greens. Otto Hightower, in the king’s absence, will preside over the dispute. Alicent wears a jade-colored dress and seven-pointed star necklace like armor, like it will keep all her encroaching enemies at bay. Helaena is wide-eyed and jittery. Aegon is, much to his own regret, hungover but not inebriated at the moment; Alicent and Aemond have bullied him into relative sobriety for the duration of Rhaenyra’s visit. You stand between the brothers, always on Aemond’s good side. He periodically touches your hand, your hair, your shoulders. Sir Criston remains by the queen, watching her like a sailor studies the sky for signs of a storm: dark clouds, spiraling winds, scattering flocks of birds.

As Otto ascends the Iron Throne as Hand of the King and Vaemond Velaryon states his claim to Driftmark, you take stock of Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. It is clear why Aemond is so heartened by their presence, here in King’s Landing for all the nobles to see and spread word of throughout Westeros. Jace and Luke, whatever their favorable attributes, are utterly unlike what the world expects from Targaryens or Velaryons. They are short and dark-haired and somehow benign in their features: homey, ordinary, pug-nosed like the Strongs are known to be. They do not sweat that unnerving, commanding otherworldliness from their pores, that magnetism that totters on the blade’s edge between greatness and insanity.

Aemond smiles darkly as he ghosts his fingertips across the back of your neck. He has the looks of a true Targaryen. He has a full-grown, legendary dragon. He has you. The gods have set things right again, they have put the universe back in order. He is at the top of fate’s wheel; the bastard boys and all their defenders are at the bottom.

When Rhaenyra tries to refute Vaemond, Alicent scolds her like a child, reminding her to wait her turn to speak. The futility of her cause is becoming evident on Rhaenyra’s face. Otto and Alicent will never acknowledge her sons’ legitimacy. Not even Luke seems especially enthused by his own claim to Driftmark; he looks skittish, almost anguished. His doelike dark eyes land on Aemond and then bolt away. Aemond only grows more amused.

Aegon turns to you. Is this over yet? he mouths, then mimes swigging a cup of wine.

It is Rhaenyra’s turn to plead her son’s case. She steps forward. Daemon watches her in a way that is somehow familiar to you, and then you place it; it is the same way Aemond watches you, proud, possessive, linked by a gravity that is bone-deep and older than words. Daemon even looks and moves a bit like your husband, albeit less controlled, less premeditated. You remember once being able to tell that Aemond had never killed a man. There is no mistaking the fact that Daemon has spilled a tide of hot pulsing blood, and furthermore would be delighted to again.

Rhaenyra speaks as her time here draws short, as Luke’s claim to Driftmark dies. Everyone knows it, Blacks and Greens alike, they’re just waiting for the judgment to be handed down. And then, and then…

The doors to the Great Hall open and his entrance is announced. In nearly a year, you have never once seen the ailing King Viserys. He was not roused from his sickbed by the joust, by the feasts, by your imprisonment, by the trial by combat that nearly claimed Aemond’s life, by the birth of your daughter. Aemond rarely speaks of him. He doesn’t seem to have many memories of the king at all, the man who watched as the mangled flesh of his son’s eye was sewn shut and felt no outrage. Only now does Viserys appear to take his rightful place as king. Only for Rhaenyra.

Otto dutifully surrenders the Iron Throne and comes down to stand with his family. He and Alicent exchange a wary glance. As Daemon helps Viserys—weak, emaciated, decaying—to his seat, Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. Helaena fidgets anxiously. You tug on your moonstone pendant. Aemond is a pillar of stone. Here is one thing Rhaenyra and her sons have that he never will: the king’s unconditional love.

The winds have changed direction. Rhaenys announces her and Lord Corlys’ support for Luke’s Velaryon inheritance, as well as her intention that her granddaughters Baela and Rhaena marry Jace and Luke. Vaemond’s face is furious, while Rhaenyra’s grows cautiously assured; House Velaryon has chosen a side in the coming war, the one everyone knows of but cannot yet name.

King Viserys did not protect Aemond when his eye was cut from his skull and his life endangered, but he protects Luke now, not from jeers or blades but from his mother’s obvious indiscretion: he affirms Luke’s claim to Driftmark. The Great Hall is hectic with whispers and cynical looks. The nobles here at court may never have fully warmed to you, but many of them loathe Rhaenyra: due to her arrogance, due to her lies, due to her marriage to the rogue prince…and yes, due to her womanhood as well. While you cannot fault her for this last fact, there are plenty of shortcomings left to weigh the scales against her. Only Vaemond Velaryon, after exalting the longevity and uninterrupted bloodline of his ancient house, is willing to give voice to what so many others are thinking.

“My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned…” He turns to Luke, trembling with rage. “I will not see it ended on account of this…”

“Say it,” Daemon dares, his icy deep-set eyes gleaming, and again you can see shades of Aemond in him.

“Her children…” Vaemond says. “Are bastards!” He looks to Rhaenyra, briefly, with palpable revulsion. “And she…is…a whore.”

Aemond is smiling again. His father is less pleased. King Viserys, slow and feeble and wheezing, yanks a dagger from his belt. “I will have your tongue for that.”

There is a whistle of steel through the air, and Daemon’s blade Dark Sister severs Vaemond’s skull crosswise just above the mouth. Helaena whirls away, clapping her hands over her ears; both you and Alicent reach out to console her. The man—now a corpse—drops to the floor, spilling out blood and brains like wine sloshed in a too-full cup. The room erupts into gasps of shock, disgust, dismay. If the noble families of Westeros required any further proof of Daemon’s undomesticated savagery, they now have it.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon says, smirking down at Vaemond’s body.

“Disarm him!” Otto Hightower bellows.

“No need.” Daemon wipes his sword clean and sheaths it.

Helaena is whimpering as you embrace her. Aegon is clearly regretting his sobriety. Aemond is staring at his uncle, his blue eye alight, entranced and awed and hungry; for it is not often that he meets his match in someone. As you watch, his finger go—unthinkingly, instinctively—to the dagger at his belt, and they rest there on the hilt shaped like the roaring bear of House Mormont.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere in the few hours between the audience in the Great Hall and the dinner arranged by the pitiful, dying king, Aegon managed to rectify his dreadful lack of intoxication. He is now quite drunk and delighted to be back in his preferred state. Aemond is berating him in the corner of the dining room.

“Perhaps I don’t drink too much,” Aegon says, swaying as he pokes his brother in the chest. “Perhaps you drink too little.”

“I drink exactly the correct amount, thanks for your concern.”

Aegon slurs, speaking to you this time: “Don’t you think he drinks too little?”

“I think you should find your seat at the table before you end up under it.”

“Well alright then.” Aegon staggers off.

“Tonight is important,” Aemond tells you, low enough that nobody else will hear. Servants are lighting candles and setting the vast table; Alicent and Rhaenyra, sitting just a few paces apart, pretend not to notice each other. “I asked him to be responsible, to be prepared, to for once put duty before self-indulgence—”

“Let him have the wine. A time will come…a week from now, or a month, or a year…when he will have to renounce his vices for the good of the realm, but that time is not now. Let him enjoy his hedonism while he still can.”

Aemond frowns as he glares in Rhaenyra’s direction. “Even when the noose is tightened, they expect us to break bread.”

“Perhaps there is an advantage in it for you,” you say, laying your hand against his cheek, his scar. “Perhaps this is your chance to study them, to learn where all their bruises and cracks are.”

He smiles, lifts your hand from his marred face, kisses your palm. Candlelight illuminates him like flames. “You are truly a terrible influence, wife. You’ve made me so tame.”

“I’ve been known to ride a dragon too, you know. A very fearsome dragon. Tall, silver-haired, spends long hours in the library reading about philosophy…” You wink and turn to go to your seat. Aemond pulls you back, hooks a hand beneath your jaw, devours you with his roaming, ravenous eye: your parted lips, your throat, your breasts, your hips, lower. You can feel your muscles unraveling, opening, growing supple. You can feel all of your self-conscious trepidation melting away. On the blurred, firelit periphery of your vision, you can tell that Daemon is watching.

“I want you,” Aemond whispers.

“So take me.”

The doors open and King Viserys is carried in by the Kingsguard, propped up helplessly in his chair. Aemond releases you and stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture diffident but his lips still curled mischievously, distractedly. You can guess what he’s thinking, what he’ll spend the entire meal playing out in his mind before he gets to have it. When King Viserys is positioned at the center of the table, Aemond takes his place at the Green’s end. You sit between him—always on his good side—and Helaena. Your eyes scan the guests; Jace and Luke are ogling you with a mix of horror and fascination. Daemon is smirking with his chin propped on the heel of his hand. Alicent is staring blankly at the wall.

Aegon bends across Helaena so he can say to you: “That was very decorous. Entirely appropriate for a family dinner. Maybe when they serve dessert you could fuck on the table, right between the apple cake and the blueberry tarts.”

“That’s a fine idea, I’ll certainly consider it.”

He cackles and slumps back into his seat, guzzling a cup of blood-red wine.

“How good it is to see you all tonight,” the king says. “Together.” His eye—he has only one remaining, and surely that is the work of the gods’ irony—floats over you without much interest. He barely acknowledges any of his children with Alicent, nor do they strive to capture his attention. Perhaps they learned the pointlessness of such efforts a decade ago. Perhaps the part of them that longed for the king’s affection and approval died with his rotting flesh.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent prompts, and the king agrees. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love…” Beneath the table, Aemond nudges his knee against yours. You return the gesture. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long…” From the opposite end of the gathering, Luke stares at Aemond as if still trying to puzzle out how the runt of a boy he blinded grew up to be…well…that. “And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, and perhaps they can find a new wife for Axel Hightower too.”

“If he’s fortunate, he’ll be freed when I suffer an entirely coincidental fall from a horse,” you pitch back. Aemond chortles, a low rumble from deep in his chest.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” the king continues forcefully. Through a forest of flickering candles, Daemon’s eyes dissect you as he twirls his wine cup, thoughtful and amused. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

Aemond says nothing, but you can read the words in the lines of his face. Further bolstering the strength of the Blacks, you mean. Absentmindedly, he skims his fingertips across your knuckles. Goosebumps spring up on your arms.

The king raises his cup. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

Everyone obediently lifts their cups, but their expressions are less than celebratory. Otto Hightower broods. Alicent bites her lower lip. Luke blanches; he is young, so very young.

Aegon taunts: “Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.”

“And perhaps just the one,” Jace returns. “You wouldn’t be acquainted with the idea.”

The king says: “And let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides.”

Cups are raised again. Rhaenyra beams with pride. Aemond leers at Luke as he drinks.

“You’ll be great,” Rhaena tells her future husband. She is a sweet girl, wise and sympathetic and grounded. She must be more like her mother. That’s good; she’ll make a fine companion for Luke when he’s sent off to rule Driftmark.

Aegon leans into Jace again. Jace flinches away. It does take some getting used to, as you are well aware; Aegon has, at best, a tenuous understanding of personal space. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin,” Baela warns. You find it unfortunate that she was born to be on the wrong side of this war. She would have made a valuable ally.

“You can play the jester if you wish,” Jace tells Aegon. “But hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Having not received the reaction he was hoping for, Aegon returns his attention to his wine. Luke and Rhaena are whispering back and forth, giggling innocently; she’s finally gotten him to smile. Aemond reaches beneath the table to rest a hand on your thigh. It skates upwards, and then back down again, very slowly. You sip your wine and try not to react visibly, but hot blood rushes into your face. Aegon squints at you and Aemond with bleary eyes, his mouth stretching into a grin.

The king hauls himself to his feet. Aemond’s hand stills but remains on you. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…” Aemond shakes his head, just barely, just enough for you to notice it. His face was not dear enough for his father to mourn its butchering. He does not look directly at Viserys. He looks at you instead. Again, Daemon is watching. “…Yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.”

The king reaches up to the golden mask that covers half his face. It takes you a moment before you realize he’s going to remove it. Alicent takes a series of shallow, uneasy breaths. Aegon grimaces and gulps his wine. Beneath the mask, there is a gaping, wet cavity where the king’s right eye once was. His cheek is mostly disintegrated; one can glimpse his teeth and tongue moving behind the curtain of dark, shredded flesh. To her credit, Rhaenyra does not turn away. There is horror on her pale face, but there are other things too: compassion, mourning, loss. She does truly love him, you think to yourself, and you wonder what Alicent’s children’s lives could have been like had Viserys not already filled the chambers of his heart to the brim with Aemma’s daughter.

“My face,” the king pants. “Is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father…” Aegon forces himself to raise his eyes to Viserys, then immediately regrets it and buries his face in his wine again. “…Your brother, your husband…” Alicent winces like she’s been hit, but tries to hide it. “And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

You are struck with a sudden vision of Otto Hightower holding Laurel, talking to her like she’s already his closest confidant, tickling her toes, singing to her some ridiculous tavern song common in the Reach, kissing the crown of her head again and again. To your knowledge, King Viserys has never once asked about your daughter.

I cannot pity this man, you think, contemplating the dying king. You do not avert your gaze from his hideous affliction. You do not forget all the ways in which he has failed Alicent’s children. In fact, I might even hate him.

The king says as he lowers himself back down: “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong—”

“Interesting choice of words,” Aegon mumbles.

“—If the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” Exhausted from the effort, the king languishes in his chair and sucks in rattling breaths. Alicent comforts him and helps him refasten his mask. No one speaks, but all the Greens are thinking the same thing. It is easy for the king to urge forgiveness when he was never wronged: never ignored, never dismembered, never groped with unwanted hands, never sacrificed on the altar of Rhaenyra’s claim to the Iron Throne, a claim so much of Westeros refuses to support. He would set the world ablaze for her, and expects you all to smile and toss sticks into the flames as they lick around your ankles.

Ever the favorite child, ever affixed to the king, Rhaenyra offers a toast next. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the queen.” Alicent peers up at her reticently with large, tearful eyes. “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

“Apology for what?” Aegon hisses under his breath. He is right; the words are worthless in their ambiguity. Apology for monopolizing the king’s love? Apology for cursing Alicent for complying with old men’s schemes and marrying Viserys? Apology for what happened to Aemond? Apology for the interminable enmity that remains? Apology for dividing and jeopardizing the realm? Apology for WHAT? No matter her meaning, Daemon is not enthused. He glowers and sulks. Daemon Targaryen is not a man who apologizes for anything.

Alicent collects herself before replying. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She stands and toasts Rhaenyra. “I raise my cup to you and your house.” She pauses, then adds: “You will make a fine queen.”

Otto Hightower raises an eyebrow. Aemond’s forehead wrinkles before he can smooth it again; his hand squeezes your thigh. Is it a lie to soothe a dying man? Is it to deceive Rhaenyra, to disarm her? Is it wistful thinking for a miraculously peaceful end to all of this? Surely Alicent cannot think it possible for Rhaenyra to reign. As long as Aegon lives—and then Aegon’s sons, and then Aemond, and then Daeron—there will be tens of millions who raise banners and swords to try to put them on the throne. It is a truth that is larger than any of their individual wills. Rhaenyra cannot let them live if she hopes to be queen. Even if she wanted to spare them, Daemon would not stand for it. She must either be kept from the Iron Throne…or she will wear the Greens’ blood like rubies. The dinner guests ignore this fact, for tonight at least. They nurse their wine and clink silverware against their plates as they eat. Candlelight paints you all in flames and shadows.

Aegon is sorely disappointed with the dearth of chaos he’s caused this evening. He gets up to refill his wine cup and snakes between Jace and his betrothed. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” he tells Baela. “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Jace jumps to his feet and slams his palms on the table.

Baela tries to calm him. “Jace…”

Beside you, Aemond rises. He doesn’t say a word; he just stares, wearing firelight like furs, his scar very loud. Aegon meanders back to his seat. Jace does some quick calculations, trying to figure out how to deescalate while saving face. He is bolder than Luke, but still far from ferocious. And he is clever enough to know how to keep the king’s love. He pounds Aegon’s shoulder and raises his cup.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” Jace says. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope that we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. And congratulations, Prince Aemond, on the recent birth of your only child, your…” He hesitates deliberately. “Daughter.”

The table is hushed, all eyes on Aemond. He is examining Jace like he’s trying to decide the best spot to place a blade. Aegon observes his brother, waiting for a signal. Aemond looks to you. You shrug, ever so slightly, sipping your wine; you are determined not to be bothered. The Strong boys’ time of reckoning will be upon them soon, but not here and now. At last, Aemond sits. The table comes back to life like the earth at springtime.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” Helaena says.

“Well done, my boy,” the king praises Jace. Aegon gags audibly.

Helaena stands next. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon.” She offers a soft, sympathetic smile. “It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

There are awkward titters. Helaena isn’t sure what they’re laughing at. You reach out to grasp her hand when she sits. “That was very, very kind of you,” you say. She nods gratefully.

“Good,” Otto adds, and Helaena beams.

The king calls for music. The dining room blossoms with the noise of lively, cheerful strings. Jace—quite unexpectedly—offers Helaena his hand for a dance, and she is delighted to accept. You fill your plate with meat and fish and vegetables but eat sparingly. Aemond eats nothing. He watches you, and he watches Helaena, and he adds spoonfuls of dishes to your plate that he thinks you might like but declines to taste them himself. Aegon drains cup after cup of wine. Alicent tends to the king. Daemon tends to Rhaenyra, his arm draped across the back of her chair, making her laugh and feeding her morsels of food with his fingers. He is the mate of her choice, that’s for certain; she glows for him, she would kill for him.

When the king’s pain grows too great, he retires to his chambers for sleep and milk of the poppy. As Viserys is carried out, a large roasted pig is brought in. The scent is rich and fatty and mouthwatering. The servants place the pig in front of Aemond, and he immediately begins cutting into it to serve you a portion. That’s when you hear the snickering. At the other end of the table, Luke is smirking. Rhaena stares at him, not knowing what it means, but you do; Aemond has told you about the Pink Dread. Aegon has too, for that matter. It rolls across your husband’s ravaged face like a wave: the taunting and cutting and stitching, the excruciating cleaning of his wound each day for months afterwards, the muscle memory of trauma that never quite forgets the blade, the howling absence of repayment. A debt is still owed. A debt will always be owed.

Aemond brings his fist down on the table and stands. The music cuts off. He raises his cup. “Final tribute,” he says, and glances down at you. You would not stop him, even if you could; these words are long, long overdue. Aegon has perked up, though his eyes are still glazed with drink. Alicent is gnawing anxiously on her thumbnail. Across the table, Daemon is grinning. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.” If his intentions were not clear before, they are now; he has conveniently left out Rhaenyra’s sons with Daemon. “Each of them handsome, wise…”

Don’t, Alicent’s eyes plead.

Do it, provoke Daemon’s.

Aemond continues: “…Strong.”

“Aemond—” Alicent begins.

“Come,” Aemond says, ignoring her. You and Aegon hold your wine cups aloft. “Let us raise our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again!” Jace shouts.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment,” Aemond says, stepping towards him. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace’s fist collides with your husband’s face on his blind side. Aemond barely recoils; his wine remains undisturbed in his hand. When Luke bolts to his feet, Aegon—no great foot soldier, but committed to the cause nonetheless—smashes his face into the table. Luke yells and struggles. The room is in uproar, but when Aemond shoves Jace to the floor and turns back to you, he is smiling. He has tasted the Strong boys’ power and is wholly unimpressed. Guards rush to restrain Jace and Luke. Rhaena detains Baela, who is swiping at Aegon like a shadowcat. Aegon circles back to the Greens, probably a little terrified of her. Helaena has fled to safety at Otto Hightower’s side.

Alicent grabs Aemond’s forearm. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?!” What she means is: Why would you sabotage what little chance we have at peace?

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” Aemond rips his arm free. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jace breaks away from the guards. “It takes courage to speak of bastards when your child was born to another man’s wife!”

Aemond reaches for his dagger. Jace fumbles for his own. Daemon steps between them.

“Wait, wait,” he says, and Jace instantly retreats. Rhaenyra sends her children from the room, as if they needed help appearing any more juvenile. Then Daemon turns to Aemond. They measure each other in a taut, razor-sharp silence. You go to Aemond’s side, not to stop him but to show that you support him even when his own father does not, that you will always and unconditionally, that you do not shy away from battles. Daemon’s menacing, deep-set eyes flick to you, linger there, and then return to Aemond. There is a cunning sort of understanding living in those eyes like fanged animals in caves. The viciousness on Aemond’s face dies. It is replaced by something unsettled, something fearful.

“Hm,” is all he says. He nods towards the doors, telling you to leave first. You cross through the threshold and Aemond swiftly follows after you. You hurry through halls and doorframes and empty rooms. Together, you enter the deserted Great Hall.

“What was that about—?”

Aemond pushes you against the wall, kisses you breathlessly, runs his hands up the length of your body from your hips to your throat. “It doesn’t matter.” You moan into him as he pushes your thighs apart and kisses you again. He tastes like wine and heat and bloodlust. He tastes even better than you remember. “I want you,” he says. “Now.”

“Yes,” you answer. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“They’re going to come looking for me, Mother and Otto. They’re going to want to discuss what I did and pick it to pieces and start drawing up plans. If we go to our chambers they’ll find us, probably within five minutes—”

“Then do it here.” You glace to the stairwell where he took you that very first time, back when you were a widow and he was a prince in need of a politically expedient marriage and Rhaenyra was tucked neatly away on Dragonstone.

He caresses your face, suddenly gentle. “Are you sure you’re ready? I won’t be angry with you if you’re not.”

In reply, grinning and flushed, you take his hand and lead him to the stairwell. You descend together past the cobwebs and jagged stones walls and cold drafts and the torches, bathed in firelight. In the abyss of this secret place, he strokes you and tastes you and is so impatient that he rips pieces from your gown like the missing scraps of membrane on Vhagar’s wings.

When you gasp as he slips into you, he stills. “Pleasure, yes? Not pain?”

“Pleasure,” you agree, biting at his neck, the movement of your hips guiding him back into a rhythm.

“You are mine,” he whispers when you are both spent, sweat-slick and drenched in each other, throbbing with long-awaited release. He kisses the side of your face again and again as he catches his breath. “You are mine, you are mine, you will always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is sunlight on your bare skin. There are gulls crying outside. You can hear the crash of waves, the rustle of wind through the leaves. King’s Landing is awake again.

Your eyes still closed, you reach out to Aemond. His side of the bed is empty, and this is not so unusual; he often wakes before you to train or hunt or strategize with his family. Last night, Otto Hightower had indeed been waiting when you and Aemond returned to your chambers; he had politely diverted his gaze from your ripped gown. Perhaps the Greens’ ambitions have called your husband away again already. There is nothing to fear: Rhaenyra and Daemon have returned to Dragonstone, King Viserys has returned to his sickbed, the world is back in order. You open your eyes.

You bark out a startled yelp when you see Aegon. He’s perched on the writing desk with a cup of wine. You groan, sitting up and rubbing your face with both hands. “Why do you insist on doing this?”

There are deep, violet circles under his eyes, even more pronounced that usual. His clothes are stained and common. He wears a strange, mournful smile. “I’m just saying goodbye.”

“…You’re what…?”

He hops down, gulps the rest of his wine, tosses the cup on the floor, and walks out of the room.

“Where are you going…? Aegon?” You stumble out of bed and yell after him: “Aegon! Where are you going?!”

You dress yourself as quickly as you can and venture out into the Red Keep. Something is wrong. There are no footsteps, no pleasant jabbering, no laughter, no frivolous droves of nobles. Aegon isn’t in his rooms. The courtyard is empty. You feel a sudden stab of fear and rush to Laurel’s bedroom, but she is dozing peacefully under the supervision of her wetnurses and handmaidens. You depart to find Helaena. The princess is in her chambers, but engrossed in embroidering a black-and-red spider and says only that Aegon isn’t there, and of course you already knew that. Aegon is almost never with his wife.

“Do you know where the others are?” you ask her. “Aemond? Sir Criston?”

She shakes her head. “It comes from the sky.”

“Helaena, please…”

Her hand juts out to snag your wrist. “Stay away from the fire,” she hisses, gripping you so fiercely that her fingers leave pallid imprints in your flesh. Then her face clears and drops back down to her embroidery.

You are headed to Alicent’s chambers when Aemond intercepts you. His height fills up the hallway, blocks the sunlight, casts shadows. “There you are! I was looking everywhere—”

“Have you seen Aegon?” he asks, his voice urgent.

“An hour ago, but not since. Why?”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No. He just said that he was saying goodbye.”

“Seven hells,” Aemond exhales, aghast.

You take his hands. When you do, he brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them absently, his thoughts far away. “What’s happened?”

He looks at you for a long time before he speaks. It is a moment you can never come back from. “The king is dead.”

You know what this means. You’ve always known; you just thought you’d have more time. Aegon knows what it means too. And when he felt its full and final and crushing weight…he tried to escape it.

“We have to find Aegon,” your husband says. “He ran, and if we can’t drag him back…if he gets out of the city…” He shakes his head. “We need him to be king. We need him to send terms to Rhaenyra. We can probably convince her if we move quickly and our side has enough strength. She’s not stupid and she’s not suicidal, and if she is offered generous conditions for herself and her bastards she might concede and the realm need not burn. That is my mother’s most ardent wish, and so we will give it a chance. But we need Aegon. As long as he lives, it has to be him. He’s the firstborn son. He’s the true heir. The people will not follow anyone else.”

“I’m sorry it can’t be you,” you say softly.

“That’s done. There’s no use fighting it. It can’t be changed.” He gazes through the window into the mazelike alleyways of the city. “Do you have a spell for this, Moonstone?”

“For locating a lost person? I’ve seen one performed before, but never done it myself.”

“What would you require?”

You try to recall. “Ashes. A mirror. Willow bark. A candle of transparent wax. An object belonging to the person, like blood or hair or a sweated shirt. And something beloved by them…in this case wine, I suppose.”

“How long will it take?”

“Not long. I think I can find everything here.”

“Ask the maesters if you need any assistance,” he says. “They will help you.” And that’s true; they are devoted to Aemond, and so they will cross oceans for you as well. “Sir Criston and I must search the city. If we cannot locate him by noon, we will return for your counsel.”

You smile up at Aemond, combing your fingers through his long silver hair. “You make me sound so important.”

“You are,” he replies, as if it is obvious, and before he can vanish he remembers one last thing. He reaches into his belt to give you back your dagger from Bear Island. He balances it on his palm like scales of judgement. “I suppose you’ll need this.”

“You’ve grown attached to it, haven’t you? You like to think you own it now. That you’ve claimed it, perhaps.”

“I’ve grown attached to everything about you,” he says. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

You find ashes in the fireplace. You find a mirror on your vanity. You obtain pulverized willow bark and a clear candle from the maesters. In Aegon’s bedroom, you remove a handful of white-blond strands from his hairbrush. In the Red Keep’s kitchen, you procure a flagon of red wine.

It is risky to perform a spell in broad daylight, but the circumstances leave you no choice. You spark the candle to life with your dagger and flint on the side of the heart tree that faces away from the castle, and you pray to the Old Gods that nobody spies you and gets too curious. You burn Aegon’s hair in the flame. You scatter the ashes and willow bark over the cold grey glass of the mirror, and then you sprinkle on drops of wine from your fingertips, repeating the words you once heard your mother say when two of your brothers went missing during a hunting expedition: “Lost in the waves, lost in the trees, lost in the sky, now show me what they see.”

As you are about to wipe the glass clean, Aemond and Sir Criston appear in the godswood. They are both wearing cloaks to conceal their identities as best they can…as if there are a plethora of towering, silver-haired, one-eyed men running around King’s Landing. They are also emptyhanded.

“What on earth is she doing?” Sir Criston asks with apprehension. He is aware on some level that you dabble in the occult, but adamantly avoids the details. He is a devoted follower of the Seven, after all; although perhaps he would have absorbed whatever religion Alicent subscribed to with the same zeal. Perhaps she could have had him chanting to the Old Gods under a heart tree within an afternoon. “I don’t need to kill any more bears, do I?”

You chuckle. “No, Sir Criston. Not just yet, anyway.”

You clear the mirror with one sweep of your hand. Then you tilt the glass so the sun ricochets off of it, igniting the reflection in blinding white-gold light. Squinting, your eyes pained, you peer into the mirror. There is candlelight, and stones, and a large hollow space, and…and…

“This is ridiculous,” Sir Criston laments. “This won’t accomplish—”

“Quiet,” Aemond says.

There is a face. No, not a face, a statue. Not just a statue. A sculpture of the Mother, and then the Smith, and then the Warrior, and then the Stranger. They revolve in a ceaseless pattern like the clouds passing by overhead.

“Oh, what irony.” You look up at Aemond and Sir Criston. “He’s in the sept.”

You are waiting in Aegon’s chambers when they bring him back. He is struggling and shrieking and sniveling, dragging his feet like a petulant child. His cheeks are scraped and bloody.

“You bitch,” he says when he sees you, but he is more heartbroken than wrathful. “I wouldn’t have given you up.”

“I wouldn’t have run.”

Aegon ruptures into red-faced sobs. His limbs hang lifelessly, brokenly as Sir Criston and Aemond hold him. Your voice turns kind. You lift his shagging hair out of his eyes. They glisten with tears, with misery, with dread. “We need you, Aegon.”

“You don’t,” he chokes out. “I could disappear, I’d be happy to in fact, I could go to Pentos, or Volantis, or Myr, or…or…”

“As long as you live, you are the heir,” you tell him calmly. “And none of us would harm you.” You cradle his swollen, battered face in your hands, and he lets you. “You can do this, Aegon. You are capable of it. You will grow into it. And we will help you.”

He lets loose a bray of cynical laughter. “Do you have a spell for that too, witch?”

And Aemond wrenches his brother roughly off his feet and drags him away.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is less than twelve hours later when you find yourself back in Aegon’s chambers, this time carrying a pouch heavy with dust the color of pale rose quartz. The prince is under heavy guard to prevent another escape attempt, but he has been allowed some comforts: there are, from what you can discern in the frenzied nest of blankets, no less than two women snoring faintly beside him. Aegon is turned towards you with his eyes closed, his chest bare, slack-jawed and drooling, one hand dangling down to the floor. His coronation will be tomorrow.

You kneel to spread the fine shimmering powder beneath his bed: rosemary, sage, sea salt, black jade, a handful of teeth from a bear, a single fang from Balerion. Aemond did not suggest this precaution, although he went with Sir Criston to supply the bear teeth; he knew you would have thought of it already. When you rise, Aegon is staring at you.

“This is a strange reversal of roles, Moonstone,” he says. It is the first time he has ever used Aemond’s name for you. You weren’t even sure he was aware of it. It glides off his tongue effortlessly, like he’s known it all his life. He speaks no apology, but it is there swimming in his watery blue irises; it passes between the two of you in the blade-cool moonlight. “Now you are watching me sleep.”

You lay two fingers against his full lips. “I wasn’t here.”

“I’ve already forgotten you.” And then he rolls over, pulling up the blankets to cover his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

The smallfolk who have been corralled into the Dragonpit like cattle gawp with wide, wheeling eyes. They aren’t sure why they’re here. They’ve heard rumors, surely—and rumors can be powerful things—but they are slow to find their footing in this brand new world. They are so desperately afraid to hiss or clap at the wrong moment and end up hanged as traitors.

On the platform beneath a massive glass window that lets in sunlight like a downpour, you stand on Aemond’s right side. Helaena is to his left, and then Sir Criston and Alicent. The old queen is anxious, clasping her hands tightly together so she will not reveal too much of her humanity by wringing them. Most nights, you and Helaena bring the children to Alicent’s chambers and spend several hours there with her. She doesn’t quite feel like a mother to you yet, but you have learned enough of her to know that one day soon she will. She sews green blankets for Laurel decorated with seven-pointed stars and white watchtowers and dragons…and, occasionally, the roaring bear of House Mormont.

Otto Hightower addresses the crowd. He tells them that the king is dead and there are alarmed, doleful murmurs, perhaps less for the king—a sick old man who they have not laid eyes on in years—than for those who will survive him. An unclear succession can bring war, chaos, fire and blood…and Rhaenyra’s inheritance has been the subject of tipsy tavern debates since long before Aegon was born. The smallfolk might have less love for royals than you would care to admit, but they have more than enough for themselves: their families, their companions, their painstakingly scrapped out existences. You look into their filthy, creased, indomitable faces and are reminded of Bear Island.

“But it is also the most joyous of days,” Otto announces. “For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

There is a tentative reception to this news from the crowd, scattered shouts and applause. They have heard rumors about Aegon too, but they cannot say they know him. The guards file in. The horde parts to make space for them, common men and women jostling for the best views. The trumpets sound to proclaim the new king’s arrival. He appears—white-haired, raccoon-eyed, with an all-consuming dread that could be mistaken for dignity—and approaches the platform through an archway of drawn swords, a rainbow of cold clanging steel. The smallfolk peer at him with desperate curiosity, trying to discern what he carries in the lines of his shoulders and spine: competence, wisdom, pride, brutality, disaster. In turn, Aegon glares up at his family with bitter animosity. Tears burn in his eyes. Aemond and Otto chose his clothing, his crown, every detail of his coronation. Aegon can choose only his own grudges, fed and fattened like rats lapping up splashed milk in alleyways.

When he ascends the steps, Alicent kisses Aegon’s forehead and then moves to stand by his wife, the new queen. Helaena is dressed in a delicate, mournful blue. There is a ladybug clinging to her right index finger. She looks at you miserably. You offer her a small reassuring smile. Helaena does not smile back.

Aegon glances to Aemond, to you, and then he kneels. The septon anoints him and prays for the blessings of the Seven. Aegon’s mouth quivers; his hands shake. The smallfolk study him like a constellation they are still trying to discern the shape of. Sir Criston brings forth the crown of the Conqueror—black and red, onyx and flames—and places it on Aegon’s head. Aemond watches with an expression you can’t quite read. He breaks his concentration and warms, beams at you, brings your knuckles briefly to his lips. You catch several people in the crowd chuckle at the exchange, astonished, endeared. Regardless of the rumors, they have never properly met Aegon before; and they have never met you, either.

The smallfolk are growing louder. They are clamoring, nodding. Whatever they have heard, here is a young and able-bodied king, here is a dragonrider, here is an uncontested Targaryen, here is a man they can cast as a hero. Alicent bows to Aegon. So do Helaena and Aemond and Sir Criston and Otto. You bow lower than any of them. Aegon’s lips curl up at the edges when he sees this, just barely. And as he is introduced to the city for the first time as king, the crowd erupts. Something changes in Aegon’s drawn face; something brightens in his eyes. He unsheathes the sword Blackfyre and waves it in the air, and the cheers and applause become deafening thunder. Helaena can’t bear to look at Aegon, but you can’t take your eyes off him. He is radiant, ecstatic, ablaze. For the first time in his life, he can feel a worthy purpose surging through his veins. He can feel love.

“Long live King Aegon!” the people exalt. “King Aegon! King Aegon! Long live King—”

And then the stone floor explodes under them. The Dragonpit fills with dust, screams, the hellish shrieks of a dragon. Aemond grabs your arm, pulls you behind him, draws his sword. It is pointless; there is nothing in the world that could stop this fire from devouring you if it is loosed. From behind the curtain of churning debris, Meleys growls and screeches. Her massive red tail sends smallfolk hurtling into the walls, crushing bones, severing arteries. When the sun rose this morning, Princess Rhaenys was under lock and key in the Red Keep; yet now she is here, enraged, betrayed, armored, deadly. She has chosen her side after all. You’re on the wrong one.

Otto is yelling for the doors to be opened so people can escape, but there is no escape for the Greens. You are cornered. You are staring into the scorching golden eyes of a dragon.

“Get Helaena!” Alicent commands Sir Criston, and as he lunges for the new queen Alicent steps in front of her firstborn son. She and Aegon cower there together, united at last in these dwindling final seconds of their lives. And then you have an idea. You attempt to shove past Aemond, but he pushes you back. You peer around his shoulder, trying to catch Rhaenys’ eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer, you scream soundlessly. There is no man so accursed as the kinslayer.

The uncertainty hits Rhaenys’ face and ripples out like a stone tossed into water. Her eyes go blank, empty. The reins go slack in her limp hands. Aemond turns to you, only now realizing; he is hopeful and yet so bone-rattlingly afraid to hope.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, KINSLAYER.

Rhaenys reappears. She gathers up the reins again. A decision has been made.

Meleys opens her jaws and roars. The walls quake, the destroyed floor rattles, the whole world shudders beneath her fury…and yet no dragonfire burns you to ash. Meleys whirls away, takes flight, soars out of the Dragonpit and into the clear blue sky. Alicent’s knees buckle and she collapses into sobs of relief.

Rhaenys carries the threat of murder away with her, for the moment at least. She will also carry word of Aegon’s coronation to Rhaenyra.

~~~~~~~~~~

He stands before Vhagar in the dying light. The day’s last sunbeams are speckled over the choppy waves; a storm is rolling in. His coat whips and cracks in the wind like sails. You hold Laurel in your arms; she is drowsy but valiantly battling sleep. You have both come to the cliffside to see him off.

“Storm’s End isn’t far,” Aemond says. “I’ll stay one night and be back in the morning.”

“That’s what you think now. Just wait until you wake up to find all four of Borros Baratheon’s daughters in your bed.”

He laughs, shakes his head, grazes his thumb across your cheek. “I’d tell them to assume new identities and flee to Essos. I’ve acquired a rather formidable wife.”

You search his face, not wanting to be afraid, not wanting to be weak. Rhaenyra is out there somewhere, in the mist, in the nightfall. So is Rhaenys. So is Daemon. “Do you have to go alone?”

“Aegon is needed here. There are other tasks to be attended to. And if there is an attack on King’s Landing, he and Sunfyre can defend the city until I return.”

The prospect of Aegon defending anything would have once been dubious at best; now it is a surety. He has been king for three days. With each sunrise, he wakes earlier, works longer, drinks less. He grows confident. He grows content. “Of course.”

“It is my responsibility, Moonstone,” Aemond says softly, and you understand. He is the reason why the Greens cannot assume the aid of House Baratheon. Axel Hightower’s words echo in your skull: The great houses of Westeros will not forgive this slight. You will have to crawl on your knees begging them to support you in what comes next. “I will bring my regards, my apologies. And I will also bring an offer of Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever daughter Borros chooses.”

“Hopefully not Floris. Unless Daeron has a fondness for donkeys.”

“I prefer bears myself.”

You clutch Laurel to your chest with one hand and hold out your dagger from Bear Island with the other. “For luck,” you say. This is a joke; Aemond is not a man who believes in luck. He believes in magic. “I want it back when you return.”

“You can try to take it from me.” He grins and tucks the dagger into his belt. “Fear not, wife. This war hasn’t even begun yet and it’s already almost over.”

You balance on your tiptoes to kiss him, to breathe him in, to twist your grip into the collar of his coat and drag him in closer. His long silver hair thrashes around you in the wind. His forearms and neck are dusted with your protection spell; Sir Criston jests that his title should be changed from Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to Chief Bear Executioner. Aemond traces the wrinkles on Laurel’s velvet-soft palm; her tiny hand closes around his finger.

“You know what I’m going to say,” he tells you. “It’s what I always say.”

“You’re coming back.”

“I’m coming back,” he agrees.

He tears away from you both, climbs up the rope netting to Vhagar’s saddle, disappears into the southern sky as the dusk snuffs out those last threads of fiery, golden light.

~~~~~~~~~~

Storm’s End is only four hours away by dragonback. Rhaenyra waits all night for Luke to return. He never does.

At first, she tells herself that Lord Borros Baratheon surely offered her son a feast and lodgings, that he is perfectly well—overindulged, even, plied with wine and meat and flirtatious serving girls—and that he will travel back to his own House the following morning or early-afternoon. But as the sun sets over the Narrow Sea exactly twenty-four hours after Luke’s departure, there is still no sign of him. Daemon flies on Caraxes to fetch the prince. He returns with Arrax’s severed head, washed up on the thunderous, stony beach of Shipbreaker Bay.

There are more than mere rumors; there are witnesses. Daemon tells Rhaenyra everything. Aemond threatened Luke in Lord Baratheon’s hall. He pursued Luke on Vhagar. There were roars and fire and shouts in the lightning-split sky. There were ragged pieces of Arrax that fell into the sea like rain. Luke did not reappear. He never will.

Rhaenyra’s wails hemorrhage from her in wrenching, gasping torrents. She cannot stop. She cannot bear it. Each time there is a sliver of silence she hears his screams. Each time she closes her eyes, she sees her child—his outstretched hands, his dark matted hair, his face contorted in shock and terror—tangled in Vhagar’s entrails, alone in the darkness, in the gore. She will never be rid of this. It will be a cavernous, inescapable loss. It will be a hatred that replicates in her bone marrow until no part of her can remember a time before.

“I’m so sorry,” Daemon says as he cradles her like a child, his hands smoothing her hair, long and loose and bone-white, the mark of the magic in their blood. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“He has done this.” Rhaenyra’s words are gutted and pitch-black. “That monster. That vile beast of a man. It is not enough that they stole my father from me, that they murdered Harwin Strong, that they killed my daughter in the womb. Now they have…they have…” She cannot speak of it. The words do not exist.

“We will burn Arrax’s remains as a true Targaryen. And we will have vengeance.”

“What will happen to Aemond’s child? What will happen to the Mormont girl?”

Daemon considers this. “He will send them away,” he decides. “That’s what I would do. He will send them somewhere he thinks is safe. He will hide them until the war is won.”

And in the bloodstained silence, the two of them—uncle and niece, husband and wife, rulers of Westeros in name only—look at each other for a long time.

[readerhead]

Invisible string

summary: what happens when you’re in love with your friend? Would something happen? Would there be a perfect occasion? What if you two were predestined?

pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader (I wrote this thinking of a female reader but I think there isn't any word that imply it)

warnings: some drinking? It’s actually just fluff

word count: 2.7k

a/n: first of all, English isn’t my first language so sorry beforehand if there's any mistake. I obviously did this while I was procrastinating because I thought there are not many Stiles x reader fanfics that are not long series (I think I read all of the ao3 ones) so here I am to contribute and hopefully encourage people to do more because I need them to live. Hope you enjoy it <3

----------------------------------

I remember very clearly the day all started, years ago. You were in Beacon Hills, your hometown, right after the accident. You were in the hospital waiting for news from your parents when you saw the lovely nurse you met before. She was kneeling, trying to calm a kid your age. You walked over there and tried to help.

"Oh, hi sweetheart! This is Stiles. He's having a hard moment, I'll go with you when I finish." the boy stopped crying and opened his eyes, he was met by your comforting smile. He sniffed a little while you introduced yourself.

"Why are you sad?"

"My m-mom, she's very sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that. My parents are here, too. Maybe we could cheer each other. I-If you like of course." your chubby little cheeks turning rosy.

"Sure. That'll be awesome." his eyes were a lot less watery than before.

You too spend all the evening talking and distracting each others from your cruel reality. You really wanted to stay here forever and not confront your life or emotions. But forever seemed like a joke for you after that afternoon and the sweet nurse was coming to you with your aunt. You were sure that meant no good so you took the scarce time with the boy to say goodbye.

"I think they are coming for me, so I've got to go."

"But we were having a great moment." he pouted a little and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Here." you handed him your bracelet made of gemstones. "If you ever feel panicked again this would help you." The boy looked at the clear and black crystals confused. "The dark ones are obsidian and the other is quartz, my granny told me they would keep away bad energies and attract good ones."

"Thank you very much." He was genuinely happy because, even if it worked or not, he had something to remember you.

"I'll never forget you." as you said this your aunt touched your shoulder and told you that you're going with her. You heard him say something under his breath but you didn't understand it.

Less than an hour later your parents had passed away in the hospital due to the injuries of the car accident. You had to move to the big city with your aunt. Years passed and your aunt found a better job offer in Beacon Hills. That and the delicate health of your grandma made you move back there.

You found yourself being friends with the popular girls of the school which was really strange to you, but they were nice. You also befriend one of his exes, Scott. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable but after a couple of months and some weird shit happening, all of you ended up in the same friend group. You learned that the supernatural existed and you thought the craziest thing that would happen to you here was when you started having a crush on one of your friends.

You lived near Scott, so you went to his house before Stiles picked you two up to the costume party in Lydia's house. You were greeted by his mom, you haven't met her in the couple months knowing him because you only went there a couple of times and she was working.

"Hi, sweetheart! I'm Melissa, you must be Scott's friend." you were paralyzed.

"Y-You-u." your face lost all its color.

"Are you alright?" she asked, reaching for you in case you passed out. You gulped and recovered yourself. When she saw you better she let you in and went for a glass of water.

"I'm sorry. It’s just... You were the nurse that calmed me years ago, the day my parents died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." she gave you an apologetical look, probably because of the trauma dumping and she not being able to remember you.

"Don't be. It doesn't affect me that much after all these years." she gave you an understanding smile. "I don't know if you remember but there was a boy there with me, his mother was sick. I always wondered what happened to him." In that exact moment Scott entered the kitchen, greeting you.

"Wow, your costume is really cool!"

"You don't know who I am, don't you?"

"Not a single idea, but it's still great."

"Thank you. I'm Padme by the way." you saw his confused look. "From Star Wars?" his face lightened up.

"No chance dude! Stiles is going as one character too!" you blushed, maybe it wasn't a couple one but you'll be matching costumes with the guy you liked.

"They're made for each other." Melissa said in a tone you barely heard because a honk overlapped it.

"That's him, we should get going." Scott made his way to the door while you turned to face his mother.

"I promise I'll tell you about the boy, now go and have fun!" you just met her again but it seemed as if you have known her a long time. You made your way out entering the jeep, not registering the boy at your side until he talked.

"W-Whoa. You're amazingly dressed as Padme." you frowned and turned to look at Stiles. First you notice his eyes wide and lips parted. Then you inspected his costume realizing.

"And you're going a-as Anakin." you surely looked like those cartoons with their eyes out because of the shock.

"What am I missing? Are you guys going like an accidental couple costume or something?" he said laughing but you both faced the windshield with your almost crimson cheeks not laughing at his joke too and he realized.

"No way! You are!" you made yourself little in your seat while you still heard Scott chuckling in the back. Stiles started the engine and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

The way was a little uncomfortable, but between their talking, your silence and the music, your desires of drowning stopped. Just when Stiles parked you undid your seatbelt and opened the door.

"See you guys, I'm going to look for Ally and Lyds!" you almost ran until you found them.

"Girls red code!" you said a little too loud when you found them.

"Werewolves?" Allyson asked.

"Oh. No, no. I clearly should've not used those words."

"What is it then?"

"Isn't obvious?" the redhead interfered grinning. "Is a boy red code."

"Did Stiles finally kissed you and you did something stupid like run to us?"

"What? No! He doesn't like me. And why do you think I would mess that up?" that offensive supposition made you almost forget about the matter.

"And I'm black haired. Now go on." she said, rolling her eyes.

"StilesandIareaccidentallydressedasacouplecostume." you took a deep breath after that.

"Oh that." Lydia nudged Allyson.

"What? You knew?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I know you've been here long enough to take a shot and there's not even a drop of alcohol in you." you knew they knew something, but you needed that shot.

"Okay, I'll go to the kitchen but we'll talk about it." you went there and took a couple of shots before pouring a drink.

"Hey." you almost poured the cup when you heard his voice.

"Hi." you stopped your actions and took the filled plastic cup in your hand.

"What a coincidence this outfit choice."

"Yeah." you looked over the responsibles of it, even if you didn't know how.

"I mean if you're uncomfortable I have another costume in my house. I can go and change." you saw him looking at the floor and your heart skipped a beat.

"No! I mean, I don't have any issue at all."

"Thank goodness." He looked back at you. "When you ran away from Roscoe I thought you didn't wanna see me all night."

"It was just... Unexpected, but it's kinda nice." you saw the dimple you love appearing in his cheek.

"You look really badass in the Geonosis battle's outfit" he took a step closer.

"You don't look bad yourself, Skywalker" you slightly tugged his dark robe as if you were stretching it. You two were inches apart, your cup long lost on the countertop. He smelled heavenly and his warmth made you lean closer. You could swear he was also inching closer.

"You know, we should do a Star Wars marathon." he pulled apart scratching his nape.

"Yeah, totally." you couldn't help the disappointment slipping between your lips while you gazed at your cup. "You know, this was a lovely chat but I think the girls are waiting for me."

You took your drink and surrounded him, making your way out. You searched for any of your friends until you found someone. Not exactly who you had thought of, but the only one who wasn't inside the house. You sat at Scott's side on the wicker couch near the pool.

"How's it going little pupdawan?"

"You know only Stiles gets those jokes, right?"

"Right. But I was worrying about my friend, so tell me why you're here all alone."

"Nothing, just music sometimes gets too loud when you have super hearing."

"That makes sense."

"And what are you doing here? I doubt you were looking for me."

"Well, I could be!" your mouth opened by the offense.

"Of course, but it's a party. You usually are too drunk to remember anyone." you smacked his shoulder.

"I guess today I'm sober enough." you looked at your drink between your hands and he followed your eyes.

"You don't look in the mood. Is this because of Stiles?" your gaze returned to him, now confused.

"What?"

"I'm a werewolf, I have a pretty good hearing."

"You didn't have to eavesdrop!"

"I didn't want to, is like when you have the TV as noise but they say something that catches your attention." you nodded. "And I also can hear your heartbeat and smell some emotions."

"I guess it's difficult to have some secrets with supernatural friends. So I'm assuming Isaac also knows." It was his turn to nod. "So everyone in the pack knows." you put your head in your hand.

"Except him."

"Except him." your eyes went to the party inside.

"Maybe you should tell him."

"Scott, you're his best friend, you should know that's not gonna work. He's in love with Lydia. He sees me as a friend. That's just giving me false hopes. Like before, I was in the kitchen and he came and I thought he was going to kiss me but he backed out. He probably-"

"He almost kissed you?" he cut off your rambling.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! He didn't want to kiss me. If he wanted he would have."

"You know what? Wait here." you were confused as you saw him enter the party.

Scott was taking his time so you rested your head on the back of the couch, staring at the stars. You heard the noise of the door closing and supposed it was him until you heard a tapping in the glass. You looked over and saw Scott at the other side of the glass and a very familiar back, knocking the pane.

"Stiles?" he turned around to face you.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here? Why isn't Scott coming?"

"He might have locked us out."

"Why-?" you cut yourself when you realized his not so subtle plan. "Oh my gosh. I'm sorry, this is my fault. I'm going to kill him."

"How could this be your fault? In any case it is mine."

"What? No, I was talking to him about an issue and he decided to handle it on his own."

"Am I the issue? I thought you were cool with the costumes."

"It's not that, it's just... Wait, why do you think this is your fault?"

"I... Uh... He wants me to confront a situation."

"Since we're stuck outside I guess I'm the one you have to confront."

"Kind of."

"So how do you feel, Sti?"

"What do you mean how do I feel?" he looked really nervous.

"I mean that if you have to confront someone is because you're feeling somehow about them, perhaps you're mad at me?"

"What? No, I don't think I could ever get mad at you."

"Then what is it? Did I make something that bothered you?"

"No."

"You don't like something about me? Do I breathe too loudly? I chew too noisily? I laugh too hard?"

"No. No. No. Please stop!" he took your shoulders.

"Is it my rambli-" you were cut again, but this time you didn't mind interruption because he was kissing you.

Stiles was kissing you. After the initial shock you relaxed and let both of your lips melt as if they were one. You thought them fusing would be the sweetest sentence. His hands gently took your face, deepening the kiss, and yours found their perfect spot in his chest. Then both of you slowly pulled away.

"So you had to discuss with me about kisses?"  you had the biggest smile which brightened more when you saw his upside-down one.

"I actually wanted to discuss which day you can come over for that marathon. As a date, of course." you touched your lip as if you were thinking while your heart felt like it was on a race.

"How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect." and he pecked you.

You were thrilled when you woke up that morning, you were going to have your first date with Stiles. He told you he would go to pick you up, but he needed to pass over Scott's for something his mom made, so you decided to meet there.

"Hey Melissa! Is Stiles here already?"

"Yes, Scott is with him in the kitchen helping him to put the tupperwares in a bag." when you both went there, she called your name.

"Do you want to know what happened to that boy?"

"Oh, yeah. I always worried about how he would be."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Do you have his number or address or something?"

"What are you talking about?" Stiles' curiosity intervened in your conversation.

"A boy I met when I used to live here. Right when my parents had the accident, he was in the hospital because of his mother's illness and I like to think we bonded. Melissa knows him so I asked about him."

"Wait, you gave him a bracelet?" you were beyond confused.

"Yes, it was made of quartz and-"

"Obsidian." he finished for you.

"How do you-" that's when it clicked to you. "It was you?"

"Yes, he was." Melissa interrupted this time.

"That explains why your name was so familiar!" you always thought you had heard his name before even being so rare, you just couldn't pinpoint where. You two headed out to the jeep to enjoy your date

"So you still got it?" he looked sad when you asked him.

"I wish. It broke the night we went to the forest and Scott was bitten. When we went the day after that I only found some of the crystals."

"I'm sorry, maybe we could do another one. I'm guessing it protected you since all of the supernatural started after." you smiled at him.

"Are you sure you didn't give me something made of rose quartz?"

"It was clear quartz. Do you even know what giving rose quartz means?" you were going to chuckle when he replied.

"Yes, that's why I'm asking." you really were shocked, that was the crystal for love and attraction, he was openly admitting his feelings to you. "That day after I met you, I did some research on crystals." he confessed a little awkwardly, clearly a little embarrassed.

"Wow. That's really sweet, Sti." you kissed his cheek. "So I guess there's nothing I can show you, little padawan."

You two made the way to his home talking about random things and the day before, you even told him the part where you met Scott outside, he laughed at your joke and your heart tightened at the sound.

I love my job, being able to bring two soulmates together, as you two. Making the opportunities happen, like the fact that you two went to the same hospital, you going back to Beacon Hills or even you two choosing the matching costumes. Maybe putting Lydia and Scott in his first full moon was a little far-fetched, but it was worth it. Some people call me Destiny or shorten it to Fate, others say I'm a red thread or even a golden invisible string, but it doesn't matter who I am, the only important thing is you two finally being with each other.

----------------------------------

a/n: I almost forgot to mention that this was inspired Taylor Swift’s song ‘Invisible string’ :)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Ingek73 found this 1900 converted school in Amsterdam and this is the way to convert a school building, rather than some of the slapdash, haphazard DIY “conversions” we’ve seen. This one was made into apts. and the one that’s for sale here has 2bds & 2.5ba.  €2.100M / $2.256M +  €286 / $307 mo. Owners Assoc. fee. 

Look at how cool they made the entrance hall- love the ceiling.

Very nicely done hall that led to classrooms, now leads to the rooms of the apt.

The unit is a 2 floor duplex. 

This is amazing. Look at the loft. 

So ultra-modern with high-end finishes. 

I love this- my kitchen is under the loft, and I think it gives it a more cozy feel.

Sleek gray cabinets with quartz counters.

There’s a spacious and airy lounge.

Beautiful large powder room.

Nice little home office.

Up in the loft is a nice open library area. I like the black ceiling.

They made a nice hallway on the upper level for storage.

Looking down from the library.

Bedroom #1 is the main bd.

And, look at this beautiful bath.

The second bd. is also lovely. 

And, it has its own shower room.

I’m wondering is lining the shower. 

And, finally, there’s this wonderful terrace outside.

https://www.funda.nl/koop/amsterdam/appartement-42122665-voormalige-stadstimmertuin-2-k/

[bonefall]

Never done an ask before, so this is interesting. Anyways, I decided to try my hand at translating some of my OCs into Clanmew! Forewarning, I was doing this while playing COD with my siblings, and had some trouble with translating!

FlintShadow - Swarfyfwasha; I couldn't find flint, so I went with this.

BadgerHeart - Pihabababun: I also couldn't find badger, so I don't know if I'm just bad at using google sheets, or... But I think this name is fun to pronounce even though he's evil. Really funny.

BristleStrike - Bachkubo: I almost went with Marrl for his prefix instead, but I didn't want it to be so negative.

ChestnutScar - Konchyach: I just couldn't find most of the prefixes, though that could've just been my inexperience. I also kinda like how this one's pronounced, too.

FoxFang - Aowaoki: I find this one is pretty cute sounding.

OakThistle - Byochkegkep: He's got a mouthful of a name! Really like it, though. I went pretty generic with the Thistle part, since I didn't know the connotations or much about the specific plants and didn't have time between COD matches to do so. Sorry.

BuzzardStrike - Yassgakubo: this guy is BristleStrike's, ChestnutScar's and OakThistle's father. Not very nice, either.

StarlingFrost - Kaawiachiki: This is the main girl, younger half-sister to FlintShadow and BadgerHeart. She's also lesbian, so that's great. Actually, LeopardStep is her mate.

LeopardStep - Saorpappap: I figure there's a better word for 'Step', but it's late where I'm from and I have school tomorrow. It's also really cute, but it doesn't really fit her personality. She's more out-spoken and brazen and things like that.

Yeah, so... These certainly are not the best, but I think they're good for my first shot at this. It was actually pretty fun! Of course, if you have better ideas for the translation, I wouldn't mind some constructive criticism!

I love your BB AU, btw! And it has inspired me to work on my own OC clans! Sorry for how long this is!

You did excellently! These names are great!

Here's a scattershot of some fresh words for you;

Chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) = Koneq Note that in Clanmew, a name for a plant refers to the ENTIRE organism, so this word refers to a horse chestnut tree. This is actually because Clan cats are obligate carnivores, they mostly think of trees and plants in terms of how they affect HUNTING, not the edible things they produce. They also wouldn't distinguish between the Horse Chestnut and the Sweet Chestnut. This is because prey will eat the nuts equally, but sweet chestnuts can finicky. They don't grow well in the wild. Even if the Clan cats had access to a couple of sweet chestnuts, they would just assume it's a chestnut with differently-shaped leaves and never find out that their nuts are edible, because horse chestnuts are HIGHLY poisonous to cats. They would not risk trying to eat a sweet chestnut, assuming that it's the same type of toxic rock as a horse chestnut.

Conker = Okikwo Comes from Spike + Ball. One of the very few fruits that has a unique name unrelated to its "plant" in Clanmew! Conkers are the green, spiky "nut" (nekboq) containing poisonous "acorns" (kong) that come from chestnut trees. They are often wrapped in leather and used as balls, though some games just play with an unwrapped conker (ow).

Flint = Boshur Etymology unclear; Possibly Stone + Holy + Pale. Found exclusively at the Mothermouth, which is an abandoned quartz mine. Because there is no other good source of flint at Sanctuary Lake, the pieces that were brought with the Clans fleeing the destruction of the White Hart have become precious heirlooms. Flint is the most reliable way of making fire. Clan cats believe that it is a gift from StarClan, and reacts when struck against the "evil" fake-flint that Humans try to clad their monsters and fences in (metal).

Stance, gait, "way of walking," most common form of the "step" suffix = Yam Most of the time, if a specific verb for a type of walking isn't used, -step is "yam." When used with a prefix, it implies that they MOVE like the thing they are named after. It means a bit more than just a single physical step, or a particular movement, it's the WAY it moves around.

Pawprint, animal track = Pabyam Self-explanatory. The impression of an animal's foot on the ground.

And, lastly, badger is mair. I realized that we just didn't have a word for it a while ago, and I was also taken aback by that. It's surprising we went this long without it, lmao.

[softquietsteadylove]

More from the Maleficent one please?

Druig stretched out his wings to cushion his landing. It was familiar, landing among the crags of a cliff side lush with vegetation. He had gotten quite used to the treetop nests woven from branches and leaves.

Thena's nest had been picked out painstakingly. She chose a spot high up, fairly away from most other fae. The quartz in the rock face had ripples that would let an acceptable amount of light into the chamber, while also not requiring her to hide away from the sun. She had already begun the task of arranging glowing moss and flowers along the walls.

Druig set down the fruit he had went out to fetch specifically for his sister. He had been feeling negligent, as of late, spending all his time with Makkari, the mate of his dreams. Thena liked Makkari, of course, and they spent time together around the group fires and all. But he felt he was missing something.

Thena was smiling all the time, her wings were fluttering constantly, like a fledgling eager to take off with every breeze. He had even caught her humming to herself as she collected berries the other day.

"Here," he murmured, tossing a mango gently in her direction. She caught it, but she was preoccupied with her task of arranging some white moon lilies along her walls. He cleared his throat before taking a bite for himself, "looks good in 'ere."

Finally Thena turned around, also admiring her hard work to make the cliffside inlet a home. It was looking like a real nest of an Isle fae. "I believe so."

Druig kept his eyes on her as she took a delicate bite of the mango's ripe red skin. He still couldn't place what seemed different about her, but he was determined to uncover it. "So, how'd you find this spot?"

Thena sat herself on the edge of her bed--her nest within her nest. It was a plush pile of mosses and leaves, enough to soften around her body and keep her from the stone floor of the place. She had even fashioned a pillow out of several bromilliads. "I had help."

That was all his sister had to say on the matter, but Druig knew more than she thought he did. As if he would miss the border patrol fae who had been lingering around her since they arrived. He had been a guide and a guardian for them, sure. But Druig could see more.

He could see the way Thena smiled around him, or how he fed her fruits while the rest of the flock was partaking in roast fish and molluscs. He could see them flying off at dawn, wings pitch white and pitch black respectively.

It didn't surprise him that the fae named Gilgamesh had helped her find the perfect spot. He was a strong flyer, with long wings, probably used the updrafts from the springs below to scour the whole cliff for the perfect spot.

"Hm?" Thena looked at him, prompting him to speak his mind. The two of them didn't always need the exchange of words, but she was asking him specifically.

Druig slurped at the pit of his mango loudly. Thena glared at him and he threw his head back in a laugh. "So, where is he, 'en?"

She tilted her head.

Druig raised his eyebrows, "your prospective mate?"

Thena thought herself so hard to read, and maybe to a stranger that was true. But Druig could see clear through his sister. He saw the twitch of her eyes and the angle of her head and the way her wings rustled behind her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Sure y'do," he murmured, finishing off his mango pit and tossing it down in a pile of leaves he would take with him. "He seems nice enough. Friendly guy, good flyer, I'm sure he'd fight for ye if he had to-"

"Druig, no one is fighting anyone," she said with such a tone it hissed from between her fangs. "I have no such...prospects."

Druig looked up at the ceiling of the cavernous nest. It was spacious--loverboy had found her a really good spot. He looked at the veins running through the white quarts, at the flowers Thena had hung and at the wisteria hanging over her nest like snowfall. "Gilgamesh."

All he had to do was utter his name and Thena's shoulders raised, her wings trembling on her back. She set aside the remaining half of her mango to glare at him.

But he was no longer a fledgling testing out his boundaries. She couldn't scare him out of this one (even with that tone). "Feels as if I never see you two apart, nowadays."

"I'm sure you're mistaken about that."

Druig grinned, though. He kind of liked rising to his sister's challenge. He liked riling Ikaris too, but with him it devolved so quickly. Thena was more of a match of wits. "So I don't see you sittin' 'round the gathering fire, just waitin' for him?"

Thena didn't even rise to that bait. Not enough.

"I don't," Druig shrugged, adjusting his own pitch black wings on his back, smaller and lighter than hers, "see you two whispering all the time?"

She rolled her eyes. He was getting to her.

Druig raised a brow; this, he genuinely wanted to know about. "I didn't see him with his arm 'round your back one night after you went down to the springs?"

Thena's back straightened.

"T," Druig made a solemn plea. He didn't like having to talk about this kind of thing. Thena was his sister, as well as the only mother he had any memory of. "You can handle yourself, I know. But...if this seagull is takin' liberties-"

"Druig," she cut him off again, with an even more firm tone than before. She was as good as screaming at him, as far as he was concerned. "Enough."

That was still enough to make him feel like his horns were coiling even tighter against the sides of his head.

"Gilgamesh is not guilty of anything untoward," she stood from her bed to chastise him properly. "And even asking if he has proves that you do not know him."

Druig avoided looking directly in her eyes. They were still wing and wing for who was taller than whom, but he deliberately drew up his posture and made his shoulders wider than hers. "Then maybe I should get to know him."

It was a reasonable argument, but Thena wavered. She kept her expression the same, but something about it made her falter. "No."

"Why not?" he prodded. If some strong arm fae was gonna try his hand at courting his sister he had a right to know! Ikaris would feel the same, but when he pieced together the puzzle was up to the spirits and the skies themselves.

"Drop it," she growled at him, returning to her decorating to busy her hands.

Druig leaned to look past her, tilting his head. "Oi."

She ignored him.

"Oi," he repeated more firmly, walking closer to her bed. She turned, splaying out her wing to keep him away. He pointed from a distance, "wassat?"

She raised her brow at his lack of diction, but she did look behind her at what had drawn his attention. Her shoulders flinched and when she turned back, her expression was completely unreadable. "What."

"That," he repeated, but she raised her wings to block even his pointing finger. He huffed, "come on."

"There is nothing to see," she repeated, but the fact that she maintained her posture of using her wings to shield his view was damming.

"T."

"If there were something there, it would be none of your concern."

Druig's eyebrows raised so high he felt his hair rustle against his horns. His sister was well and truly ruffled over whatever this was. He pulled his wings back.

"Don't you dare," she glowered.

He let loose one strong wing beat. It displaced most of the newer and less secured fixtures of the nest. He would grovel for forgiveness and help put them all back later. But his eyes caught the sight of a pitch black - actually, there was a warm brown undertone to it - feather catching the air just for a second.

Thena snatched it close to her chest and pointed, "out!"

Druig was stunned. He'd had an inkling of what was happening between his sister and the guardian fae. Maybe he could have imagined they were courting in secret, had exchanged a trinket or two. But...but a feather?!

"Out!" Thena repeated, clutching the feather against her heart and urging him out of her nest as if they were still budding fae learning to control themselves.

"No way," Druig shook his head. He would cower in fear of his terrifying sister later. He stepped closer. "His feather is in your nest?"

Thena attempted not to dignify his question with a response, but he was horrified to see colour rise in her ghostly pale cheeks.

It was particularly condemning evidence. It was where she was to lay her head! This was beyond sneaking a kiss or a hand or even light preening.

Druig felt his blood run cold, "has he declared himself?"

He wasn't an old fae of old tradition, but he had some decency. And to his further horror, Thena's shoulders curled somewhat inward, "it's not-"

"I'll kill 'im," Druig snarled, turning and nearly able to take off until he felt his sister's hand bunch up the back of his tunic. "Oi!"

"Druig," Thena pleaded more quietly. That was also as good as screaming at him. She pulled him back into the nest, still holding the feather. "Neither of us has...nothing has happened."

He didn't want to think about what 'nothing' could mean. But he stared at his sister, unusually sheepish as her wings unfurled slightly. "This isn't just some matter of you two tradin' a li'l lip, T. You have his feather in your bleedin' nest and where's he?--has he got your feather on 'im?!"

She looked away, and Druig felt that same feeling bubble up in his throat. He had no business concerning himself with his sister's mating desires. She was her own fae. But the thought of some stud flying around knowing he had an open invitation to his sister's nest and couldn't even pay the same courtesy of displaying that he was unavailable-

"Druig," Thena repeated, pulling him from his thoughts. She smiled, patting his shoulder, and then roughly plucking out a downy feather, "stop."

He sighed. She would just pull out more if he didn't. He relaxed his wings on his back and lowered his shoulders. "When did this happen, eh?"

Thena looked away again, cradling that feather so bloody lovingly. "I couldn't say when exactly. Perhaps we simply...found our way to understanding one another."

That felt so much worse to hear. It sounded like a lame 'magic makes eggs and that's how baby fae are made' explanation. Druig gritted his teeth and scratched the hair between his horns in the back. "Are you, y'know...?"

Thena looked at him blankly. Bloody woman! Druig looked away from the woman who raised him, warmth rising throughout his face. "If he's ever hurt you-"

"Nothing of the sort."

At least he didn't have to bash his head through the wall of her nest just yet. Druig rubbed his hand over his face with a sigh. "Does Ikaris know?"

"Do you think he does?"

Right, a foolhardy question. Ikaris wouldn't know until the day Thena landed with Gilgamesh in front of them, hand in hand, actively preening his wings.

Druig tilted his head again. He could ask questions until he was blue in the face, but Thena wouldn't give up any truly personal details. And he didn't truly want to know them. "Are you happy?"

She smiled at him, like she did when he was a hatchling first learning to ride air currents, or climb in height without them. She nodded.

"Right, good 'nough," he muttered, saying all he desired on the matter. He was quite ready to dispose of their snacks and take his leave. He turned back to her, pointing again. "But I mean it, if he ever-"

"Hey Thena, I-oh!"

Thena beamed at the arrival of the man of the hour. Druig stepped aside, completely devoid of the desire to get in between the lovebirds. He watched her nearly lean in to embrace him but stop herself. Likewise, he could see Gilgamesh's hand float upwards but avoid settling on her back between her wings. At least they had some decency.

"Sorry to interrupt," Gilgamesh said gently. He had a soft voice, for such an intimidating fighter. "I just got back--Makkari's looking for you, actually."

Druig resisted the urge to fly off right that very second. He eyed Gilgamesh cautiously, "s'all right, I was just, uh, givin' T a hand."

Gilgamesh looked around the nest, openly admiring the progress made. "It looks beautiful in here!"

Thena looked so delighted that Druig wished he could fake throwing up (not that she wouldn't throw him from the cliff for it).

"Did you eat?" Druig heard her ask him quietly.

He shook his head.

She nodded, her wings subconsciously rising on her back. Druig could remember a time when she dreaded meal gatherings because of how bitter the fish were here. She looked at him, "after you."

He huffed. She was making sure he didn't have time to linger behind her and give Gilgamesh a piece of his mind. "Aye."

Druig walked past them both, ready to fly ahead of both of them. But the evening sun hit the rock face just so, and he got a glimpse of something sparkling.

Delicate and stark white, folded between the layers of his robes, sat a pristine white feather. Gilgamesh caught him looking and tugged at the top layer of his tunic, concealing the feather once again. He looked nervous.

They both knew Druig had seen, there was no concealing that. But Druig just nodded to him before dropping off the cliff and opening his wings. He would ask him about it later. Or he would ask Thena about it when she was in more of a sharing mood. Or he would tell Ikaris and their middle brother would do all the work of threatening to drown Gilgamesh for meddling in their sister's life.

Or...he could keep it to himself. He drifted quietly, glancing up as two much larger winged flyers passed above him. Gilgamesh flew at Thena's pace, the two of them bending and swerving around one another's air currents, as if dancing. Druig faked gagging on something at the sweetness of it.

[wjbminecraft]

"Oh hey! Armour Trims are in the game now!", or: How I Learned to Stop Waiting and Start Actually Using the Goddamn Snapshots.

Ok so you know how there's a new 1.20 snapshot thing out? Yeah, here's a post showcasing it.

First off, here's how they work;

The slot on the left (which is animated in-game, fading between the outline of a Smithing Template and a Netherite Upgrade) is for inserting... well, Smithing Templates and Netherite Upgrades, the middle-slot (which gains another animated icon when the first slot is filled; the former cycles between different slot-icons, while the latter cycles between various tools and armour-slots) is for tools, weapons and/or armour, and the third slot (cycles through the outlines of various rare materials) is where the nice materials go. The armour-stand on the right displays a preview of your item, but unfortunately doesn't allow you to rotate it.

The materials that can be used as trims are:

Nether Quartz

Amethyst Shards

Netherite Ingots

Copper Ingots

Iron Ingots

Gold Ingots

Diamonds

Redstone Dust

Lapis Lazuli

Emeralds

They can be applied to any armour-type except Leather, for obvious reasons (although I'm guessing you can probably apply trims to Leather using commands).

Anyway, let's look at all those designs!

Sentry

Very generic, but it makes sense since it's the first one listed and it looks kinda like the Trimmed Armour inventory texture.

Dune

Nice design; somehow feels appropriately deserty. The stomach-pattern makes me think of the trap-floor in Desert Temples.

Coast

Ehhh... again, kinda generic, but it probably goes well with other trim designs.

Wild

See above.

Ward

This design made me realise the design on Chiselled Deepslate is meant to be a silhouette of the Warden's head. I like it!

Eye

Haha, eyebrow helmet... the eye-chest is very cool, gotta love character-designs with facial features in the wrong place. Also I'm biased because it has Big Cyclops Energy™.

Vex

Big eyebrows! I also like the more "formal" design down the front.

Tide

If you used Lapis on Diamond for the colours, you could make some pretty-decent Prismarine Armour for a multiplayer server or Adventure map.

Snout

Frogge-eye helmet. Yes.

Rib

Looks bad as a full set, but would make a great accent-pattern for a more distinctive set. Netherite on Iron is basically white-tiger, and the opposite is zebra.

Tower

The trim on the sleeves and boots makes me think of pizza and racing, although it could just be the colours I'm using.

And now, a thing I don't like.

Ok so you know how, when you want to upgrade your Diamond stuff, you put it on a Smithing Table and merge it with a Netherite Ingot? Yeah, not any more. This is how it'll work in 1.20:

See that item in the first slot? That is a Netherite Upgrade. Now, I don't know how how it'll be found, so it could be easy to obtain, but adding another step just kinda overcomplicates it. Not only that, but the process consumes the upgrade, so if it is rare/hard to craft/only findable in chests, it'll be annoying to make a full set of Netherite gear.

But aside from that I'm really excited!

[lensman-arms-race]

I got an idea a bit ago from your brain worms thing about gift from the hardwares. What if they give eachother shiny rocks/pretty metals?

Think about it. We organic humans commonly give each other organic flowers for a sense of love and security. It would make sense for the alliance to give eachother gemstones/pretty rocks that they found? Inorganic to inorganic(in a sense) and this can go many ways with different meanings. There is bismuth, which is a metal that is hardish to find/make and if quite the pretty and exotic find, as well as geodes. Perhaps hardware scientists give their loved ones bismuth or other chemically made rocks or metals to be used as decorations, and scouts not only give their loved ones random pretty rocks, but also seashells and any other trinkets that they find nice.

This could also work practically, assuming that all the factions, like the tvs, have parts that can be de-attached and replaced. A hardware could give their partner some nice metal and they will be like ‘ah thanks bae, I can now have pink arm guards :D’

And you have some inter-species symbolism for you; Cygnus could give Phaeton a rose, but the rose is carved out of rock of crystal. An organic gift that is made of inorganic. And Phaeton could give Cygnus a strange moss covered rock, or some other inorganic that that has organic elements to it (or a geode).

This is filed by my love of pretty rocks and seashells.

I llike this idea! Thank you for sharing.

Maybe individual hardwares like to collect a specific colour of mineral, like how bowerbird species collect a specific colour of item (male bowerbirds impress the females with their collections of coloured objects).

(I myself actually collect quartz crystals in real life because I enjoy their chunky shape - they're like cartoon crystals!)

Haha, I love the bathos of Cygnus presenting Phaeton with a stone carving that took effort to make, and Phaeton going 'uhh, damp rock I found, here you go'. :D (I think you were going for a nicer interpretation, but that's where my mind went.)

Maybe a desert rose (as in the type of crystal) would be a nice organic/inorganic gift? Inorganic thing that looks organic. Or a fossil - that's literally both organic and inorganic. Hard to find too, which makes them more precious.

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 35*

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You blow Seb lol

Author’s Note: Quick warning, y/n unironically calls Seb “daddy” in this one ^^” It only happens once, and I don’t think I’ll be doing it again, but it felt right for the moment.

For those of you who aren’t into it – Seb’s a super cute soft dom during the scene, which will hopefully make it worth the read!

Enjoy and take care x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

After recharging for a bit, Seb and I went back into the market to check out some of the stalls we missed. Mostly the shop-oriented ones, rather than games or the food tents. 

I finally got him a cooler ash tray for my place. The tray itself is just made out of some kinda stone; what made it look neat enough for me to snag is that it looks like it’s being held by a skeletal hand made of tungsten. 

We got a matching set of earrings too: they’re studs made from fire quartz. Kinda blobby looking, but the color is nice and we thought it would be a good way to commemorate our new fish son. Seb only has his gauges right now, but he’s been wanting to get some more holes poked into his ears, so this helped incentivize that a bit.

Since we got back to his house so late – around 1am – and Cannoli was found safely cuddled up and sleeping with Maru in her bed, Seb said I could just spend the night here. It’s rare I get to do this since I’m usually so worried about leaving Cannoli home alone overnight. Feels weird, but in a good way!

The first thing we did upon arrival was toss Gerard’s new bowl onto one of Seb’s bookshelves – we made a space for it next to his Cave Saga X collection – and transferred the (thankfully still living!) betta in. Then, after a relaxing shower together to wash our days and some sand away, Seb changed into some pajama pants, while I stole one of his tees with a pair of clean boxers. I was just about to cuddle up in his bed when I realized Seb wasn’t following. 

“What’re you doing?”

“I still have some work I didn’t get to finish today.”

“Bro!” I frown. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve just done this all another time, or like, did something less time consuming, or something… I dunno.” 

“What?” He’s pretending he didn’t hear me. I can tell by the dumb raise of his bushy eyebrows, and the way he’s biting back a smirk.

“I said that you’re a bitch.”

“Ouchies. Ya got me there.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, hugging one of his pillows to myself. “I’m staying up with you, then.”

“Why?”

“To keep you company.” Realizing maybe he doesn’t want the company, I shy away a little, looking down and fiddling with my new necklace. “I-if you want me to. I can just leave you be, if you need it, too.”

I hear him huff out a laugh, and look up to see him eyeballing me. “Get your cute ass over here,” Seb orders.

I plop down at his other PC, shifting the keyboard forward so I can lean on the desk. I have my phone with me, and I could play Toontown or something if I wanted, but I can’t help but just stare at the topless emo for a little bit. At his wet hair dripping down onto his scarred ivory skin; the blue glow of the screen against his slender face and soft muscles; the way he gnaws his lip in concentration, as his skilled fingers zoom across his keyboard.

“Like what y’see?” Seb teases. He must’ve seen me from his peripherals. His cheeks are pink as his eyes flicker between me and his screen.

A blush coats my own face as I nod and lazily whisper, “You’re so hot…” 

I’m getting sleepy, but I’m getting sooo horny too.

“Eh, I’m a little chilly, actually.”

“You suck,” I smile. 

Hm… suck… The gears are turning in my sleepy, horny brain. 

I wonder if he’d let me suck his dick right now. 

“I have a way t-to warm you up,” I mumble into the crook of my arm. Way to go, (y/n). Lookin’ like a real expert at pickup-line delivery.

After laughing at my stuttering, Seb asks, “Yeah? How’s that?” The way he purred his words tells me Seb knows how already.

I take a deep breath of determination before standing up and walking over to him. “Scoot over for a sec.” 

He obliges, and I crawl into the space under his desk, sorta smushed between his long legs. Seb chuckles, but makes no moves to stop me as I rest my head on his thigh and trace lazy shapes with my fingertip up the side of his hardening length. 

“Is this okay?” I murmur, moving on to fully palming him through his PJs. The purple plaid pants are soft and woolen, and smell like lavender laundry detergent. Freshly washed, huh? Hopefully they won’t get too dirty.

I peer up, and licking his lips after a quiet breath out, Seb smiles softly. “Perfect, baby.”

Feeling proud of the effect I’m having on him, I move on, nipping at his clothed thigh while I grip him a bit tighter. Fighting off the urge to plunge my fingers down the boxers that are covering my own lower half, I knead his upper thigh with my free hand. 

Once Seb is fully hard, I kiss him over the fabric. Using my hot breath to tease him, I toy with his head a little while my lips “teeth” at the base. His hips are beginning to rock a bit in his seat. I take that as a sign to tug at his pants, and he wordlessly helps me slip them down to just above his knees. 

“I have a question,” I state, lightly toying with his balls as I rest my cheek on his thigh again. 

“Hm?”

Timidly, I mutter, “How would you feel if I called you a ‘good boy?’” 

While I study his face through my lashes and leave light pecks on his leg, Seb pauses his work to think about it. “Dunno,” he eventually responds. Looks a little tickled. “I don’t think I’d really be into it, but you could try.” 

Challenge accepted.

I purse my lips, then salute him. Makes him smile. “You got it, sir,” I tack on while resuming my activities. I cup his balls in my palm, knead them a little, and kitten-lick his shaft. 

“Mm,” he hums, chewing his bottom lip.

Seb’s eyelids flutter, but he’s still coding. 

I think it’s my new goal for him to not be able to do his work while I work. 

Maybe I’ll make it up to him with some coffee or a back rub or something, if he wants.

After dragging my tongue up the underside of his cock, I drop back down, leaving open-mouthed kisses along it when I make my way towards the tip once more. I take my time tonguing at the thick, sensitive vein just below the head; peppering it with kisses while I start pumping one of my hands nearer to the bottom, savoring how he feels beneath my fingertips. 

The rising and falling of Seb’s chest paired with his deep whimpers and stuttering fingers tells me it’s time to stop teasing.

Slowly, I dip my mouth over his lower head, hollowing my cheeks as I settle onto him. By the time the tip reaches my throat, Seb’s hand has made its way into my hair and started tugging. I moan at the pain. His dick reactively twitches a little. 

My eyes are watering as I look up to check on him, and I swear he’d have hearts in his eyes if he could. His heavy lids hood over darkened irises, and a deep flush coats his cheeks. The fingers that aren’t woven into my hair make their way upwards into his and push it back. Exposing his cute forehead, then leaving it kinda still exposed as the water from our shower acts as a crappy glue. 

The way he’s looking at me — watching with his full attention, clearly smitten as I stuff my mouth to the fullest degree with his cock — breaks me. The heat between my legs is fucking unbearable. 

I gravitate my hand that’s not busy on Seb’s shaft downward, into the front-opening of these boxers, and then bypass my swollen bud to drown my fingers inside myself. My eyes roll shut while I moan around Seb’s girth, and the fist in my hair pulls a little harder. 

“So selfish,” he teases. 

I open my eyes and pull him out of my mouth, a deep breath escaping me. “Fuck~ Can’t help it.”

Losing myself in my own pleasure, I lean my forehead on Seb’s inner thigh. I match the pace of my hands, pumping him with the same vigor I’m curling into myself with. 

“Shit, baby… juuust like that,” my boyfriend moans from above me. 

I force my gaze up to him again, and his head is thrown back, his eyes shut while he groans my name through a smile. Feeling bold, I decide to test my experiment out now. 

“P-please look at me,” I mewl. Even when I’m trying to be less submissive, I can’t help but sound like the sub of all time. As Seb grants my wish, I run my lips along the side of his length again. “That’s my good boy,” I murmur through soft kisses to his skin. 

Fuck. That came out too meek. 

“God, (y/n).” Maybe not? As the words left Seb’s lips, they were graced with a wide grin. “That was fucking precious.” 

“Mmn— might’ve worked better if I wasn’t fingering myself...”

Seb shakes his head, he tugs my head upward near my roots, then impatiently lowers me back onto his cock. My brows upturn and a needy whine leaves me. I try to emulate what he’s feeling with my fingers, inserting a second into myself.

“I don’t think I’d like it if you’d said it the way you probably intended, to be honest.” He punctuates his sentence with a hushed curse.

Fair enough. I’ll take it. Mouth full and head empty, all I can do is grunt my response. 

I ease my eyes shut, trying to focus on using my tongue while Seb begins fucking up into me. I give in to the urges to stimulate my clit while this is happening, using my thumb to toy with it; admittedly, my movements on Seb become a little jagged.

“Keep going, princess.” Moaning through the shivers that title sends across my skin, my eyes open back up, and I try to focus harder on pleasuring my lover than myself. “Gooood fucking girl,” he coos, his eyes stabbing my own.

My lids flutter as I desperately try to keep them open. Wanting to finish – since I’m close, and so that I can focus solely on Seb with a clear mind – I pull my fingers out of myself and vigorously focus them on my clit. 

Seb giggles at my loss of all inhibition. “That feel good?”

“Mhm,” I choke out over his dick. I do my best to bob my head along to Seb’s thrusts, but I raise myself off him, gasping for air as my foggy eyes gaze into his beneath upturned eyebrows. “Fuck, I love your cock, daddy~” 

Yoba above, what the fuck was that?! 

The words just kinda spilled outta me… I’d be more embarrassed if it wasn’t almost ready to cum. I rest my cheek on his leg again as I pump him with the same vigor I’m strumming myself. 

Seeming to have liked the name, Seb’s widened eyes roll back for a moment while a husky groan escapes him. “Yeah? Then why’d you stop, darling?” 

Suuuch a good point! He’s so smart!

“I-I’m gonna cum,” I explain as his fingertips make their way to my chin. 

“Not yet.”

Oh.

As if he pressed a button, I stop moving. Depriving myself in an instant, despite how much it hurts to deny myself the pleasure. 

Seb laughs, and the devilish sound on its own makes me whine. “There ya go. Now c’mere,” he mutters, drawing my face to his dick again. 

Holy shit this is so fucking hot.

“Hands off yourself.”

Oh my god.

Dejectedly but obediently, I do as he says. 

“Use ‘em on me instead.”

I bring both hands up to Seb’s cock, lowering them onto him from the top. My movements are shaky from being cut off, but I’m too hypnotized to care.

Seb’s hand is still on my face as he guides my lips around his tip again. It’s slick and salty with precum. The aftertaste has hints of myself, now that my well-used hands have touched him again.

Brows furrowing and lips curling, Seb coos, “You’re too goddamn pretty.” 

The praise makes me reactively hum around him. 

“Open a little wider, baby,” he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek. 

When I oblige, he tells me to go deeper, which I also do. I gag a little, but my boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Mmmshit,” he grunts, his head lazily tilting to rest on his shoulder. 

His empty hand curls into a fist and raises to his lips. The other palm trails up my face and back into my tresses, pushing me down a little further onto him. 

“You able to breathe?” I nod, doing my best to look up at him. “Atta girl,” he mewls, rubbing a soothing hand along my scalp before taking control over my movements. 

I wish I was still allowed to touch myself. He’s so perfect. Knows exactly what to say and do to get me off. Despite not having stimulation, I moan, sending visible goosebumps along Seb’s skin. 

I pick up speed, ignoring the soreness in my throat, and choking back every protest from my gag reflex for the sake of Seb’s pleasure. His self-soothing curses and grunts are driving me wild. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, before asking, “Y’want me to cum in your mouth?”

Unable to properly respond like this, I lift my face off his crotch. “Yes,” I breathe. Just as I’m eagerly dipping back down, Seb firmly tugs my head up by my hair. “Ah~”

“Yes please?”

Instinctively, I whimper. He’s being soft, yet so firm. 

It’s so cool!

“Yes, please,” I repeat back to him. My voice quivered a bit. My chest heaves and my cunt drips into his boxers as I wait for the ok to taste him again. 

Grinning proudly, he nudges me back to where I wanted to be. I make use of my hands, adding pressure towards his base while using my lips and tongue everywhere else. 

After only a few seconds, Seb offers, “You wanna cum too?” 

I try to hum my affirmation with my mouth full. Comes out as just “Mm” more than anything.

“Use your words, princess. Yes or no?”

Oh my fucking god.

I take him out of my mouth again. A string of saliva still attaches my lips to his cock, though. I lick towards it, closing my mouth on him where the liquid was beading from; gliding a little as I nod, my eyes pleading for him to cum and let me cum too. 

Against the slick skin, I beg, “Yes please.” Before the words fully leave my mouth, I’m already planting myself back onto him. Fucking depraved…

“Mmm, good girl.” No matter how many times he’s said it, that never gets old. I’m his good girl. “Go ahead, touch yourself,” he commands.

Almost too excitedly, I tuck my dominant hand back down, getting back to work. Again, I match my grips’ paces. Seb’s head falls back for a moment before his hazy orbs meet mine again. Dwindled down to a slobbery, horny, blissed-out mess, I gasp around him, doing my best to stay focused. It’s not going well.

“Mmm—“ I lift myself up for a moment to get my words out. “P-please can I cum?” 

“Fuuuck, baby,” Seb lilts, his cock beginning to twitch in my mouth. He quickly warns, “Yeah, you’ve gotta do it with me though, okay?”

My mouth leaves his length with a pop “Yes, Seb— oh fuck, please, faster!” I can barely wait another second as I urge Sebastian to completion, but luckily, it all unfolds perfectly.

He forces my mouth back on him, moaning loudly while he coats my tastebuds and throat with cum; all the while I tighten around my digits, my thighs closing around my wrist and my muffled voice shaking through the sensation. 

Once Seb begins to soften, I have to ease myself off his cock. Jaw hurts a bit, plus I’m all fucked up from my own orgasm. 

Regardless, that was amazing. 

I lean against Seb’s thigh — heh, it’s a little shaky now — and he soothingly pets my hair. 

“Sorry…”

“What for?” Seb quietly laughs. 

“Distracting you.”

Rolling his eyes through a smile, he reassures, “I’d need to be fucking insane if I was upset with you for that, (y/n).” 

Sleepily, I shut my eyelids, letting out a content sigh too. His leg is comfy… 

“C’mere,” he mutters. 

I open my eyes and practically crawl into Seb’s lap after scooting his pajama pants back up. 

He kisses my scalp, wrapping his arms around my shorter form. I meet his lips with mine, and we share a long, cute kiss; lazily knotting our tongues together as we trail soft touches along each other’s faces and bodies. 

I hum against Seb’s mouth before pulling away, burying my face into his neck. “M’so sleepy…”

“Hm.” Testing the waters, Seb brings his arms forward. “I can type like this,” he suggests.

For some reason, the idea of falling asleep in Seb’s embrace while he works makes my tummy flutter and my skin blush. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, pressing another kiss to my temple. “I’ll just carry ya to bed when I’m done… or lose circulation, whichever comes first.” 

“Work through the hypoxia like a real man,” I tease. A long yawn midway made my voice sound all funny.

“Quiet, you,” he giggles. 

And just like that, the sounds of Seb’s live keyboard ASMR and absentminded humming-singing combination lulls me right to sleep.

[sehetep-shenwer]

Hi hi hi hi! Uh.. I found you blog and I was like "wow 😼" ummmmmmmmmm

I've been wanting to worship Bastet

I've been worshipping the Greek pantheon so I know more about the Greek pantheon.

Are there any websites to research on Bastet or Kemetism that you know of?

Also do you know some stuff she likes on altars and stuff besides kitties?

Helloooo!! I've got plenty of resources for the lady of jubilation!!

Seshkemet has an excellent page for Bastet (and the other netjeru too!!)

Here's a more historical oriented resource from the amazing r/cowofgold_essays

r/kemetic on reddit is a nice community to learn abt others experiences too! There's also a kemetic discord server that I could invite u to c:

As for offerings, She loves sweets, stuff that smells good like incense or perfume, rose quartz, anything resembling femininity, anything pink, and just pretty things in general. Dua Bastet!

[twilightknight17]

Today on P3R, we’re technically covering three play sessions, because I didn’t have time to make a post before Katsucon. But a lot of that was Tartarus, so it’s not actually too much. ^_^

(Katsu pictures are coming at some point.)

Anyway, we’re off to Tartarus to train some and play with the new special attacks we got last time we were here! And get a little higher while we’re at it, so, let’s g--

Oh god oh fuck not you

It’s not the boss version, so it’s fine, but I didn’t think things showed up as enemies until after they were bosses???

The other reason we were in Tartarus was to get black quartz to trade to the guy in Escapade for a discount on fashion glasses. (Is there somewhere that will buy my gemstones? The police station won’t, and I get why, but like… I just have these.)

She looks very nice in those, actually.

Back at school, we’re still having a time. Odagiri of the student council has moved on to accusing the vice president over this one cigarette. And is not being diplomatic about it.

I’m gonna mess up his social link just because I keep not agreeing with him on these things. X’’’D

I’ve also met Keisuke Hiraga of the art club, who is a very good artist, but his dad is a doctor, so he’s also… Very Fussy. XDDDD

I can now hang out with my friends in the dorm, and I still think it’s weird that it calls them social links when I can’t start any of the girls’ links yet, and I can’t actually link with Junpei and Akihiko. I had tea with Mitsuru, though, and watched DVDs with Yukari, read manga with Junpei, and cooked with Akihiko. It’s nice! And some of them do give me stat boosts and items, so that’s cool.

I’m smooth now~

...well, shit. Here we go.

Minato’s theurgy skills are apparently the fusion spells, which you’re allowed to use even when you don’t have the actual personas with you, which is nice. The two I have so far are Orpheus and Apsaras’ Cadenza, and the Jack Bros doing a standup routine, which is cute.

I also got my first introduction to the Reaper. None of these floors really seem large enough to worry about it, so I think this appearance was scripted. Easy enough to get away from, though.

Nice.

Wait, what??? Can it do that??????

Once we found the missing girl, we escorted her back to the entrance, and I kept going til I found the next barrier floor. We’re done for now, so it’s time to go work on some more requests. Liz has a good one here. :D

I love that all the Velvet attendants have a soft spot for Jack Frost.

We also get our first intro to Koromaru!

Apparently he walks himself each day, since his owner at the shrine passed away. He stops for pets, but then carries on with his routine all on his own. He’s such a good dog. T_T

Ikutsuki drags us away from fussing over Koromaru to have a proper SEES meeting. He’s concluded that the Full Moon Shadows we’ve seen so far follow the Arcana from I to IV, and that there should theoretically be eight more, spanning from the Magician to Strength. And if we destroy them all, it will get rid of Tartarus and the Dark Hour, and we will have saved Iwatodai from Apathy Syndrome!

...they are us. There’s not much more we can say, Ikutsuki.

Yeah, let’s go to the mall after that seriousness. We can check out a new social link!

...oh yeah because this won’t go wrong.

School is still kicking my ass because this school is insane. But Junpei gets it, at least.

I can’t spend time with Fuuka unless my courage is badass-level, because apparently her food is just that scary. She wants me to be a badass, Mitsuru wants me to be a genius… Is Yukari gonna want a casanova or something? X’D

And even though Mitsuru wants me to be a genius, she called the police because she thought Junpei’s messy room meant someone had broken in.

And, as my last act before leaving for Katsu, these guys have made their first appearance, executing people in the Dark Hour based on requests on a revenge website. I don’t know how they wake people up from the coffins, but Tattoo Man over here is blasting people with a real gun, so that’s gonna be a problem~

.

[KATSU INTERMISSION]

.

I return from my convention, happy and optimistic, and school is immediately still full of bullshit. XD

You know, Keisuke, if you dad doesn’t want you to be an artist, and wants you to take over the hospital, why does he have fancy paintbrushes?

Anyway, Keisuke is about to win an art contest and gain the opportunity to study art abroad. And his dad is actually encouraging him to study abroad, so now he doesn’t know if he wants to do it because he doesn’t want to do what his dad wants. It’s kind of ridiculous, but the Fortune Arcana is all about choices, so… I guess.

We’re also off to fashion club to hang out with Bebe, who is actually surprisingly lovely despite being French. I appreciate his utter weeaboo enthusiasm. But… his aunt passed away unexpectedly, and he doesn’t know if his uncle will support letting him continue to study abroad. So not only is he upset that his aunt is gone, he also might have to leave the country he loves.

Neither were you, dude! It’s okay!

This is not quite NieR Automata levels of “everything is bad”, but things are pretty bad. I mean… people are just leaving the Lost laying on the sidewalks. :/

The Lost are the ones with Apathy Syndrome, but everyone else seems pretty apathetic, too.

I took Elizabeth to Iwatodai Station, and we had a lovely time.

The takoyaki lady can see her, which, don’t worry, ma’am. Just showing my weird cousin around. She won’t tell me what’s in the takoyaki instead of octopus, though, because apparently the knowledge would be detrimental. Which… okay, Liz. Thanks. That’s not worrisome at all.

When last I saw Maiko, she was planning to ask her parents why they were getting a divorce, in the hopes of being able to fix it. Which, not a great plan, but I couldn’t actually stop her. She wants to talk now, though, so we’ll see how that wen--

WHERE IS HE

Maybe we can throw them into Tartarus. Fucking hell. Maiko wants to run away from home so that her parents are forced to work together to find her, and I am NOT allowed to beg Mitsuru to let her stay at the dorm. This sucks so much. She wants me to keep her plan a secret, but good lord. This is going to go so badly.

I go home to stew on my thoughts and play computer games for babies to up my courage.

However that works. X’D

Lastly, I’ve reached my first choice that could potentially reverse a social link, I think?

We commit scandalous hand-holding, and it’s nice. Chihiro clearly has a crush on me, but I don’t know who I want to date, yet. OBVIOUSLY, I have my preference, but since my preference isn’t available, I dunno. Fuuka is nice. Mitsuru is… great, but also SO far out of my league. XDDD

Pharos came back for my one-week full moon reminder, so I guess that’s up next. They keep implying it’s gonna be the Lovers shadow, since couples are passing out and someone mentioned Shirakawa Boulevard, but I thought Hierophant was next.

Ah, well.