#i want to meet elias’s sister so badly :(

[silverspadesss]

i am not immune to siblings in any media i consume so the way the ice skates incident is talked about and the fact there are so many family dynamics at play here is something i am being so normal about

[thepalaceofmelanie]

Martell week, day 2: Doomed by the Narrative

(A/N: An outtake for a story I’m working on involving my Lannister OC. I consider this a “bad ending” to it.)

@martellweek

Day 2: Doomed by the narrative

A single person walked alone into the crypts in the Red Keep; a body was being prepared to be sent back to Dorne and, the single person wanted to say goodbye. She didn’t know if she could ever channel him again after this. Her heart broke the moment The Mountain crushed Oberyn’s skull.

Mara Lannister now truly felt alone in this world for the first time since meeting Oberyn. For the woman who walks among the dead, she felt like one. Her anger silent but was felt in her soul. Once again, her family damned Westeros.

The curse increased.

Sure Oberyn to some wasn’t an innocent and, rightfully so...but in Mara’s eyes, she could see the real Oberyn. A man who was in pain, a man who truly did deserve justice. Mara knew Elia and her children were innocent and as the woman who was chosen to break the curse, just lost the man she cared about the most.

The crypts were silent. It meant no living are around, it meant Mara had some form of privacy. She would need it; all of this, was getting to her. Watching him die and not being able to do a damn thing, struck the Lannister with guilt.

“Good.” Mara thought to herself.

“Mara…”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re in pain too.”

“And I will be till we break the curse.”

“And then what?”

“I return to Casterly Rock.”

Mara’s body shook like fury incarnate. Her red and black eyes kept on the table; his body covered by a cloth. She felt for the Silent Sisters, but then again, they have probably have seen it all. Mara’s body didn’t want to move toward the table. She feared seeing the worst, but some part of her moved.

“Oberyn…”

One of Mara’s hands touched the cloth covered body…

His shoulder.

Mara didn’t want to touch Oberyn’s face, or what’s left of it. With a breath, she shut her eyes and focused. Holding it together was hard right now, but it needed to be done. Slowly Mara opened her eyes and, there was Oberyn’s spirit.

“Mara?”

“Hello Oberyn.”

Mara’s voice, gentle and sorrowful; Oberyn could see something was wrong. He slowly looked down and realized what had happened. Mara felt her body give out, she turned around so Oberyn wouldn’t see her cry. Mara felt a sob spill from her throat, her shoulders moving up and down as she cried. The guilt threatening to boil over; Oberyn wanted to try and help her, but being dead is different from living.

“Don’t cry, please…” Oberyn spoke.

“Easy for you to say...you died and I couldn’t do anything about it! I had to watch you die; how can I live with that?!” Mara yelled.

Her eyes lit up and she covered her mouth, hoping no one had heard. Mara felt Oberyn “touch” her shoulder.

“It is not your fault Mara; I don’t regret it. The Mountain is dead and people know the truth about Elia and her children. You kept your one promise to us and that took down part of the curse.”

“Oberyn...it got worse because you died.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure...you know you’re...were the only human who truly understood me. I have no one, living wise again. I know what I have to do next but I’m conflicted.”

Both Mara and Oberyn didn’t speak for a moment; For Oberyn he wished he was alive and for Mara, she wished she was with Oberyn. Mara slowly turned to Oberyn, her cheeks stained. A loud scream ripped through Mara’s throat, her tears spilling.

She wanted to curse everyone, The Stranger, her spirit mentor, The Mountain, her family and even Oberyn to some extent. Mara felt so weak, so angry; if anything she wanted so badly to take her sword and start to finish up breaking the curse. One could feel the energy oozing out from her.

“Stop it.”

“Why?”

“You cannot go out and do this with anger. You need to keep calm; if not, you will die too.”

Mara knew her spirit mentor was correct on that. Now it felt like her magic energy was being grounded; she was expecting it go wild, for an undead army to march upon the land. Thankfully that was not the case. Oberyn’s spirit was holding Mara from behind.

“Your spirit mentor told me about this.” Oberyn said.

“I’m glad…” Mara sighed.

“How bad is my body?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

Oberyn looked into Mara’s eyes, Oberyn wasn’t asking for himself; he was asking for this for Mara. Oberyn needed Mara to come to terms and reality of this. Mara slowly got up, she grabbed the cloak and rolled it down, showing his face. Mara nearly let out another scream; Oberyn’s skull crushed.

“Mara, I cannot come back.”

“I know...just Elia, just like Aegon, just like Rhaenys.”

The room had a purple hue to it, like the candle flame had changed color. Purple, also the color associated with Mara’s type of magic. It was only fitting it seemed, maybe it was the Gods paying their respects.

“You have a duty, you do not have time to waste on me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t, you need to focus on your job.”

“Do not tell me what to do!” Mara yelled. Oberyn’s expression soften, understanding that what he said was the truth but Mara had the right to grieve him. She did care about him more than a friend. Both didn’t need to say it, just how they act together showed it.

“I feel guilt Oberyn, I can’t sleep anymore because I have to watch as your skull gets crushed in. Night after night, I wake up screaming, crying my eyes out. I was weak, I should have acted instead. To hell with my family! I lost you! Don’t you understand?! You can be here with me, but just in spirit. I failed you, I can’t run from that.”

“Truly, it’s not your fault. I don’t fault you for this, I knew the risk. I told you not to expose yourself. If Cersei and Tywin found out, they’d use it for greed. They would make you a weapon; they would force you to use your power for the game. I am the only fault for my death between us both. It was never you Mara. Please...believe me.”

Mara knew spirits she summoned couldn’t lie to her. She knew he was telling her the truth but it was hard to accept that. Mara had to swallow it.

“I’m sorry Oberyn.”

He was right, he always was; Mara hated to say that but it’s the truth. This fight wasn’t going to outcome a winner. For Mara, she truly did blame herself. If she only pulled the trigger and tried to save him.

Coward…

That’s the label she had on herself. Mara knew Oberyn would never truly understand; in her mind, she had failed him; was there any hope left for her? For breaking this curse. The country is under a lot of chaos right now and Mara has to pick up the pieces. Tyrion got away and Tywin is dead too; her eyes looked over to that table and Oberyn sighed. He was trying his best.

“How?”

“Crossbow.”

“What a way to go…”

“Rumor has it, you poison him. How?”

“Very carefully.”

Mara smirked lightly, knowing Oberyn was trying to get her to laugh. She did lightly though, Mara enjoyed Oberyn’s sense of humor. Mara smiled kindly at him, even in a spirit form, he looked handsome. She’d miss seeing him. The memories of him would always be with her and, that would keep her going.

“The Mountain is dead.”

“I know.”

“Good, I’m certain Ellaria will have the skull.”

Mara was stalling for time, she didn’t want to say goodbye. Not just yet; but if she kept going, her magic would make her sick from pushing herself. Mara was tired and felt it to her soul; silence filled the area, the two just looking at each other.

“Valar morghulis.” Mara said.

“Valar dohaeris.” Oberyn replied.

Mara knew she had to focus. With a smile, Oberyn vanished. Now Mara could answer her spirit mentor truly what she planned on doing after the curse is broken. That’s to mourn and to try and find meaning in life. Mara knew one day she’d see Oberyn again.

“Now do you understand?!”

Mara blinked and it felt like her soul snapped back into place. Above Mara was the Stranger… next to her was a sleeping Oberyn. Mara was shocked at what she had saw. It felt like a nightmare, never once has Mara had a vision. Mara quickly checked Oberyn’s pulse.

Strong, just like him.

“Yes...I understand.”

“Do not doubt yourself, I chose you for a reason.”

With that The Stranger vanished, leaving Mara and Oberyn alone.

[ginger-danica-snapps]

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.15 "Torture Abroad"

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, divorce mention, parent death mention, drugs/alcohol mention, foster care, beach setting, noncon/dubcon (explicit, 18+), general NSFW and sexual themes/language, broken bone mention, stockholm syndrome-type themes, self injury mention, bat used as a weapon, injury/gore (explicit), knife mention, taser mention, bondage/chains, torture with a bunch of different weapons, bystander watching torture, hallucinations, fire mention, panic attack, tics/tourettes (let me know if I missed anything!!)

"You're going to love it here," August was saying, one of his hands wrapped lazily around the wheel and the other placed on Elias's thigh, "I'm gonna show you so many beautiful places."

Elias was looking out the window at all the deep green trees and lush scenery, in utter disbelief that he was actually here. "You're really from here?"

"Yeah, after my parents got divorced my mom took me to America. I come back all the time though." He turned and smiled at Elias, squeezing his thigh gently. "Beautiful, isn't it? I'll have to teach you some French."

Elias nodded in agreement at the suggestion. "I cannot believe I'm in France." With literal Satan, he thought, then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The car was nice, a deep red that Elias thought fit August well enough. It was something fancy and foreign, and August had laughed at his surprised face when he walked right up to it in the parking garage of the airport. At first, Elias thought he was going to steal it, but then August had the keys in his hand and inside of the car was a wallet that had one of his older licenses in it. Elias noticed that he drove it with ease, like it was where he belonged, behind the expensive leather wheel, driving much quicker than he probably should be on the winding roads. For a moment, he found himself thinking about how attractive it was, and the realization made him incredibly ashamed in himself, so embarrassed and disgusted that he felt physically sick at it.

They drove for awhile longer, then they arrived at a huge house on the side of a hill, overlooking a beach. When Elias stepped out of the car the chill breeze swept through his clothes and hair, and he took a deep breath. It was beautiful, and he guessed that if he had to be anywhere with August, it may as well be here.

He jumped as August grabbed him from behind, looping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. He placed gentle kisses against his neck, humming with content. "I'm so happy you're here, angel."

Elias sighed and tipped his head back against August's shoulder. "It's so pretty," he breathed, "just... breathtaking."

August chuckled and pulled off of him. "Come on, we'll go sight seeing later," he teased, taking his hand and pulling him down the drive to the house.

It was even more beautiful on the inside; there were large, open windows that the sunlight danced through and soaked over everything it landed on, intricate designs carved and painted on the ceiling and walls, and huge, exquisite paintings that were probably more expensive than everything Elias owned combined.

"This is your house?" He asked August, who was already making himself busy opening a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Elias could see from his spot in the middle of the living room that the kitchen was just as glamorous.

"It was my father's, yeah. He left it to my sister and I after he died. Maybe you'll get to meet her, if she comes around." His voice was lightly conversational, like he was talking about the weather and not his dead dad, but really Elias would have been more surprised if he'd let any emotion into the sentence.

Elias took the wine glass as it was handed to him, looking down at the dark red with his lip caught in his teeth. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, cueing August to frown at him. "What is it?" He asked.

"It's just... I dunno, my whole life I was just tossed around foster homes and group homes and this...this is something I never would have thought would happen." He laughed again, shaking his head. "I mean, I'm drinking wine in France. It's just weird."

August nodded his head, looking thoughtful before finally saying, "I didn't know you were a foster kid."

Elias shook his head, instantly wanting to change the subject. August had seen him crying, begging, screaming, bleeding, August had seen him dead, but talking about his past with him seemed way more vulnerable than all of that. He didn't want August to know about his selfish parents who decided that they loved drugs more than they loved their twitchy son, he didn't want him to know that Elias didn't have any friends until he was in high school because he moved foster homes and schools faster than he could blink, he really didn't want him to know about the way he used to stay up late trying to find his parents online so he could try and contact them, try to convince them to take him back, and cry when he couldn't find them. August had control over him in so many ways, and Elias was going to make sure that touchy, personal information was kept that way. August would never know him that intimately, if he could help it.

He tasted the wine, trying to stay in the moment. He focused on the lush fruitiness of the drink instead of the looming fear of being alone with August. He focused on the way the light illuminated some of the dust floating around the room instead of the despair he felt about being away from Tyson.

"Do you wanna walk down to the beach?" August asked him, stepping closer to him as he spoke. "It'll be dark soon, we can watch the sun set."

Elias smiled at him, drinking some more wine. He wished it was something stronger, being sober around August was just so unbearably frightening. "I never would've pegged you as a romantic," he chuckled, "this wine must be strong, huh?"

August shook his head, taking Elias's wine glass from him and setting them both down on the side table next to the couch. "I've just been too stressed out to be romantic." He looked Elias up and down with a grin, then scooped him up into his arms, laughing at the astonished squeal he let out.

He carried him out of the house and down a short walkway to the beach, setting him gently in the sand once they were close to the water. After Elias straightened himself out, he stared up at August with wide eyes. He looked like he was waiting for something, expecting something, and when August took his hand in his own he flinched a little.

"Why do you look so bothered, bunny?" He asked, stepping closer and running his thumb over the back of his hand. He knew, just from touching it, that this was his injured hand, the one he'd broken with a hammer. The tendons and bones hadn't healed right, they felt mangled and torn up when he pressed against them. The way Elias's face twitched at the reawakened pain was absolutely mouthwatering, August tried to imagine the noises he would make if he very slowly broke it all over again.

Elias plastered on a strained smile, looking out toward the waves wistfully. "I'm not used to you being so gentle with me. Trying to uh...to not let myself get so wrapped up in it."

August sighed at the words, trailing his fingers over Elias's cheek, leaning over and kissing him softly. "You're so smart," he cooed, "but don't worry you're pretty self too much, I'll be careful. You're more fragile than I thought."

A trembling breath shook Elias's shoulders, but he knew that if he allowed himself to cry he would be in trouble. So, he pressed himself flush against August and kissed him hard, desperate for something to numb him. He hadn't finished his wine, he hadn't had any drugs in who knows how long, and the only other thing he knew would distract him from the fear for a moment was...handing himself over to the very thing causing it.

At one point they ended up down in the sand, clothes tossed aside carelessly. Elias forgot how great sex could be, when he wasn't being choked or beaten or butchered. He was waiting for August to turn on him any second, for his tender touches to turn to harsh, aggressive punches, or his sweet words to twist into hateful insults. It would happen any second, it was a miracle it hadn't already. He couldn't even believe how much August seemed to be enjoying it so far, Elias wasn't bloody or bruised up or even crying yet.

"Ah, my angel," August hummed, his lips against Elias's neck, "oh God you feel so good."

Elias gasped, arching his back against the sand. He clutched at August's arm hard, whimpering softly. He was baffled when August began to jerk him off; he hardly ever touched him like that towards the end, before things got messy, instead trying to fuck him until he came, until he was shaking and in tears, begging for help, for friction, for something. He moaned out at the touch, writhing just a little underneath him.

"Ah, fuck, August," he breathed, "jesus christ!" August pressed closer against him, kissing gently at his throat, moaning against his skin.

Once August finished, he pulled off of him, and Elias thought that was it. Yet again, left bothered and unfinished. He sighed and tipped his head back, trying to steady himself. It was ok this way, he had gotten through it without any new bruises or cuts, he wasn't hurt, he could deal with blue balls. But then, August was kissing down his torso, over his hips, on the insides of his thighs. When he started to suck him off, Elias whined loudly and reached down to tangle his fingers in his hair. He could feel August's hands holding him steady, those strong, rough hands that were hovering on the edge of being gentle and inflicting pain on him. It would happen any second now, this time Elias was sure, with how his fingers were tight around his hips.

"Au-August!" He moaned, writhing underneath his grip. He hated hearing himself moaning that name, hated that he was receiving pleasure from someone who he wanted to hate so badly, someone who had hurt him and the people he cared about. Once again, he was repulsed by himself, and he would have pushed August off of him if he wasn't right about to-

He gasped sharply as he came, shaking in August's hands. His breathing was labored as he relaxed, looking up at August as he crawled back on top of him. He felt tears in his eyes, that heavy guilt and disgust in himself weighing him down, pressing him into the sand harder than August was. August took his face in his hands, running his thumb over his cheek gently.

"You're so beautiful, bunny," he hummed, "I missed having you all to myself."

Elias frowned, turning his head to the side so he didn't have to look at him anymore. "It's so weird without you." His voice was faraway, and when August pulled away from him he sat up. "No one understood. I was just fucking up all the time and no one would punish me and I just felt...I felt..." He trailed off, shaking his head. What was it that he felt? He was glad to be away from August when he was, right? So what else could he have been feeling besides relief? Why, when he was looking back on it now, did it all seem so shitty and hopeless?

August sighed, petting his hair gently. "That sounds hard, angel. I hate thinking of you all alone, so lost."

"I had to hurt myself," Elias whispered, "no one else would so I had to do it myself."

August fell silent, then he pulled away and looked at Elias for a long time. The look on his face was undecipherable, Elias couldn't tell if he was disappointed or delighted at what he told him, and he only grew more confused when he let out a short laugh and stood up.

"Come on, little one. Get your clothes on." As he spoke, he pulled his own sand covered pants back on, and Elias got up and did the same. August took his hand and led him back up to the house, now eerily silent.

Once they were inside, August sat Elias down on the couch, wordlessly walking down the hallway. Elias was overwhelmed by his sudden quietness, August always had something to say about everything, and Elias hated not knowing what he was thinking about. It was the same as when Elias told him what happened to his face in the car, the deafening silence that made him feel like any minute August would flip out and just start screaming. As he waited for August to come back and do just that, he grabbed the glass of wine that was taken from him earlier and downed the rest of it.

"Come here, Eli!" August was suddenly calling. Elias stood up with a groan, shuffling down the long hallway. He peered into the rooms he walked past, frowning when he didn't see August in any of them.

"Where are you?" He heard the sound of floorboards creaking distantly, but the all the rooms were too big to really distinguish where the noise came from. When he thought he heard some shuffling in one of the rooms, he ducked into it and looked around, sighing when he was met with silence and an empty room. "August?" He whined.

He cried out when something solid slammed into the back of legs, making him crumple to the ground with a thud. He turned to see August standing over him, a wooden bat swinging carelessly in his hand. Elias scrambled away from him, eyes huge and already full of tears.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" He cried. August stayed silent still, and Elias grew even more panicked as he got closer. He just wanted August to say something, anything at all, so that at least he wasn't as confused. The bat swung again, this time cracking against his shoulder. Elias screamed in pain as he hit the floor, his body lit up in a blinding ache. August dropped the bat soon after, then yanked Elias up to his feet.

When Elias couldn't stand and collapsed against him with a sob, August merely grabbed a fist full of his hair and forced him to stand straight. He couldn't stifle his sobs, they weren't even his own at this point, his pain and fear were ripping them out of him violently. "Ple-please stop!" His legs were weak and battered, but every time he wobbled and nearly fell again, August's hand tightened and twisted harshly in his hair and he forced himself to straighten out again.

August dragged him out of the bedroom and down the hallway, not waiting for him when he stumbled and tripped. As they approached a flight of stairs, Elias's panic grew further. He couldn't even walk right as it was, how was he supposed to conquer stairs?

As it turned out, though, he didn't have to try to wobble down them, because once they got to the top, August unceremoniously shoved him down the hard steps.

He landed hard at the bottom, breathless and dazed from the pain. He choked on broken gasps, his chest tight from not being able to breathe. When he heard August's steps coming down the stairs he let out a hushed whine of fear.

"That looked painful," he remarked, crouching down to inspect his face, "I thought you'd catch yourself."

Elias finally gasped in a breath, groaning in between coughs. August hoisted him up again, giving him more support since he really couldn't stand on his own this time. "Ah fuck," he sniffled, dropping his head toward his chest, "ow..."

After a few more steps, Elias's arm was yanked up above his head, earning an agonized howl. He felt cold metal wrapping around his wrist, snapping shut. When he looked up, his arm was raised above his head by a chain bolted into the ceiling. As he stared at it in horror, August secured his other arm as well, then let go of him completely.

Elias's shoulders and wrists were screaming, he couldn't stand on his own, and without August he was left drooped over, dangling by the chains. He began to rethink everything that happened before that moment, trying to figure out what he did wrong to warrant this painful and humiliating punishment. Had he spoken out of turn? Was it because of his behavior on the plane? Or because he had almost refused to come with August? He started to cry again, quiet whimpers now in replacement of his loud, panicked sobs from moments ago. When he ticced, a whole new pain coursed through his body.

"I'm s-so fucking sor...sorry!" He choked out, looking up at August as he cried. "Please August, please, I'm sorry!"

August grinned at him, at his desperate begging, at how ruined he looked, slumped over under the chains. "You're so gorgeous, Eli," he praised, turning away from him and beginning to dig through a bag against the wall. He pulled out a large camera, and Elias let out another hopeless sob. "You're so much prettier than Allen, you know that?" Elias didn't know why he would say that, he didn't care about Allen or how pretty Allen was or which one of them August liked more, he couldn't care about anything stupid like that, not when his world was painted bright red with suffering. He snapped a picture, and Elias flinched at the flash, just as he always did. "Stay still, bunny."

Elias did as he was told, hoping if he pleased August enough he could be let down. The flash went off a few more times, and as August lowered the camera, Elias collapsed in on himself with a quiet, agonized whimper. "Please Aug-August, it hu-hurts so bad..."

August began to dig through his bag again, and Elias screwed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain. His shoulder, the one that took the blow from the bat, was on fire now, his fingertips numb. When he felt August's palm against his waist, he relaxed a fraction. It was over, he told himself, August was going to let him down and comfort him now. But then something cold was pressed against his ribcage, and just as he opened his eyes to see what it was, a burning pain jolted through his entire body. He convulsed at the shock, his teeth hurting from how hard he bit down. It seemed to last for hours, and when it finally stopped he collapsed further, now exhausted and in an insurmountable degree of pain. It couldn't get worse than this, and if it did Elias thought he just might die.

"Oh, you're so quiet now, little one," August sighed, grabbing his face and forcing him to look up. Elias caught sight of a small handheld taser in his other hand. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Elias sobbed, nodding feebly. "No m-more."

August smiled at him, then tased him once again. This time, Elias let out a guttural, agonized scream, writhing against the chains. This time it went on for so long that when it stopped, Elias passed out, only held up by the chains. When he came to, he looked up at August with tear stained cheeks and hopeless eyes. He wasn't begging anymore, couldn't get the words out, but the look on his face was just as good. August could have stared at him for hours, for days, if he kept making that face. He would give up food and water and oxygen and sunlight if it meant he could stay down here in the basement with Elias and just look at him forever, observe every inch of his body and how it reacted to the pain, memorize all the different ways he could scream and beg, taste his tears and see if there was a difference in the ones from torture and fear. He wanted to know Elias, inside and out, in all the most vulnerable ways, in ways that no human should ever know another.

But he couldn't do that, he had plans. That would have to wait. And besides, they had all the time in the world now, with no one knowing where to look for them.

"I've gotta run to the store, ok?" He said, his voice teasing. "You wait here and be good, and I'll let you out when I get back." He ruffled Elias's hair, watching his face sink further into despair.

"No, please! God please let me down it hurts!" He tugged against the chains, panic ripping through every muscle as he thrashed against his restraints. It was useless, August was already walking away, ignoring his pleading.

It felt like he was gone for hours, and Elias had a headache from the stress and how much he was crying. He was so exhausted, the pain was so intense he couldn't think straight, it was all a jumbled mess blurred together by the delirium of his injuries. Every now and then he forgot where he was, had to lift up his head, which felt like it was made of lead, and then remind himself that he had somehow found himself in a basement in France. Of course it would end up like this for him. Of course he would finally leave the country and go somewhere nice just to end up chained up in a basement.

When he finally heard footsteps on the stairs, he began tugging at the chains again, eager to get out before he even saw August. He didn't notice the other voice until August was at the bottom of the steps, a stranger at his side. Elias froze in confusion for a moment, then the insane aching all over his body pushed past that and he pulled at the chains again.

"August p-p-please let me down please I can't ta-take it anymore!" His gut twisted when August and the man laughed at him, and he had to try really, really hard to not start crying again.

"You look tired, angel," August teased, then turned to the other man, "je pense qu'il très fatigue." (I think he's really tired.)

The man nodded along with him, looking him up and down in curiosity. "Oui, mais il est beaux. Oh, regarde sa précieuse petite tête." (Yes, but he is beautiful. Oh, look at his precious little head.)

Elias let out an agitated sob, going weak at the hopelessness. He didn't know what they were saying, just that they sounded like they were talking about an animal they were discussing purchasing. August stepped forward. Elias noticed he smelled like booze, then he noticed his lopsided smile matched the one the man behind him was wearing. They were both drunk, and that meant Elias was undeniably fucked. August ran his hand through Elias's hair, pleased at the broken cries it caused. "Exhaustion looks so good on you, Eli." With that, he turned away and grabbed his bag, the same one he'd been hiding his camera and taser in, the same one Elias had kept wondering what other torture devices where hidden in while August was gone, prompting Elias to scream again.

"No! No more, please, please August!"

His begging was futile, August closed in on him quickly with a huge butcher knife, sliding it teasingly against Elias's chest before actually using it. When he started slicing into him, it seemed rather reckless and Elias was horrified he was going to do something irreversible to him. After he got bored of the knife, he sauntered back to the bag to look for another instrument.

Elias was covered in blood already, and he realized that his legs were completely useless by now, the chains in the ceiling were the only reason he was upright. He heard August say something in French again, and when he looked up to try and be as much apart of their conversation as he could, he saw that the stranger he had brought down with him had his phone held up, recording all of it with a satisfied grin on his face.

August used a belt, next, causing Elias to positively shriek in pain every time it made harsh contact with his already cut up body. Every now and then, he would stop what he was doing and step close to Elias, whispering so that only he could hear him, saying "you're so perfect like this, my love," or "you have no idea what it does to me when you scream like that, bunny" and it made Elias want to throw up.

He must've used everything in his bag on Elias. He'd hit him with the belt, cut him with a knife, shocked him, beat him with brass knuckles, burned him with a torch, and those were only the ones that Elias was present enough to understand what was being done to him. After all of that, he got lost in the waves of pain and the sounds of his own screams and begs, and then he was unaware of whatever tool August was using to cause it all.

They left the room without a word, or maybe they did say something and he was just too drunk on the pain to notice, when they were done, leaving Elias alone and trembling and lightheaded. His body felt fuzzy and disconnected from him, but the pain was still all too real, too intense. A flash of light caught his eye from the side, and it was nearly impossible to lift his head enough to see what it was. His vision was swimming at the movement, it made him instantly nauseous, and he had to squint really hard to be able to see clearly. When he was able to focus, he was even more confused. Was it...a fire? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the tiny flame started to grow bigger, slithering up the wall on the other side of the basement. Elias wasn't sure of the when or why or how the fire started, all he knew was that it was getting bigger so fast and he was chained up and couldn't move and he was going to be burned alive.

"August!" He tried to scream, his voice so strained and broken up that it was hardly audible. He doubted that August heard him, and then he was even more horrified. The fire was getting closer and he couldn't even call for help, there was nothing he could do. Then he wondered if August had done this on purpose. It made sense, he had chained him up and hurt him so bad that he couldn't move even if he wasn't chained up, made him scream so loud that no one could hear his cries for help, then he lit a fire so he could kill him. It was a well orchestrated plan, Elias had to give him that, and he never even saw it coming.

What he did see coming, though, was the fire, now climbing up the ceiling and creeping across the floor toward him. As much as he could in his broken state, he scrambled back toward the wall, the chains rattling uselessly above him. He was going to die, he was going to die and there was no saving him this time.

He was surprised when he heard himself scream another time, he must've been so scared he forced his shredded vocal chords to work for a moment. "August please help me!!" He shrieked, closing his eyes tight so he wouldn't see the flames that would engulf him any second.

When he felt hands on him, he let out a measly, horrified squeak, cowering away from it, thinking it was the flames he was so horrified of. "Elias what is wrong with you? Why are you screaming?" That was August, talking to him now. But why was August here if he was trying to kill him? And why was he asking him why he was screaming?

When he worked up the courage to open his eyes, the fire was gone, August was standing in front of him. Elias gasped a few times, he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. "The...August..." He sobbed as August began to take the chains off. "There was a f-fire. A hu...huge fire, in the corner." He collapsed right against August's chest as soon as the chains were off, felt his arms wrap around his ruined body to catch him before he fell right to the floor.

August lowered him to the floor, then pulled away and pushed his hair out of his face to inspect him further. He was frowning as he looked into Elias's panicked eyes. "Oh, you poor thing, you're hallucinating," he spoke like he was talking to a child with scraped knees, "there's no fire, angel. It's all ok, you're ok."

Elias looked around the basement again, there was no fire, no burn marks anywhere. "B...But I saw it." Thanks to the final scream he'd let out, his voice was just barely above a hoarse whisper. "I saw it, August."

August sighed heavily, then he stood and hoisted up and over his shoulder. Elias whimpered at the harsh movement, but he didn't mind the pain so much when he realized that August was taking him back upstairs. He was so relieved when he realized that going upstairs meant that the punishment was over, that he wasn't going to be engulfed by flames or simply left to dangle under the chains all night. It was over, he told himself. He counted to ten, it was over. He was set down gently on the couch, it was over. August was speaking to him, but he wasn't listening because it was over, and that was all that mattered.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXIII

Parts I-XXII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

Part XXII

XXIII.

Alastair watched his sister play with her dolls on the rug in the sitting room from the second to last step on the landing. A safe distance away from the fire, her small voice filled the room with color that it sorely lacked. Since their father’s return from wherever it was he had been for the past year, their furniture (what furniture they had) started to disappear.

Cordelia, being only eight hardly noticed. Not when her father’s attention became more of a pressing matter, but Alastair being ten years old and having been the one to mind the estate after their staff stopped showing up and Sona fell into another one her deep depressions, he began to notice.

And he could only suspect one person responsible.

After being satisfied that Cordelia was out of ear range, Alastair turned and jogged up the stairs two at a time. He noted the sconces on the walls were missing along with the bulbs except for one left unprotected and obnoxiously bright without a cover. The rug that ran along the hallway was gone as well leaving the floor bare so that every footstep and noise could be heard. Alastair took a deep breath through his nose and steadied himself.

He’d secretly hoped that his mother would be the one to address the issue, but she hardly seemed to notice the missing things, or if she did, she didn’t feel the need to mention it. The house grew colder and colder by the minute despite his father's enormous presence to fill it.

A part of him chastised himself for not being more elated about his father’s return. The rest of his family members seemed to be, but because of his illusive absence for the past year with no explanation about where he’d gone and the stink of alcohol lingering on his vest, something deep in Alastair’s chest froze towards his father.

Others may be warmed by his false promises and elaborate stories, but he knew the truth. Call it a gift of his, he could see past the pretense his father shoveled in front of everyone to hide his sins.

When he reached the oak door at the end of the hall, with a shaking fist, he knocked.

At first no sound came, so he knocked again; louder this time.

A shuffle could be heard inside. Glass shattering against the floor followed by a string of cursing.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, father,” said Alastair. “I need to speak with you.”

“What’s this about?”

Alastair placed a hand on the handle. “May I come in?”

“Is this important?”

“It is,” said Alastair lifting his jaw.

“Very well,” said his father.

Alastair turned the knob and pushed his way inside. The bitter, sweet smell of freshly spilt whiskey hit him and burned his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover his nose with a handkerchief.

His father wobbled on his hands and knees attempting to clean up a spill with his pocket cloth, but moving as if he were on a very unsteady ship. Red rimmed eyes looked up at Alastair and a grin curved around his father’s face.

“What is it?” He slurred as he fell backwards against the wingback chair that happened to be the only piece of furniture in the room beside the beverage cart sitting beside the window. “Am I late for supper?”

“It’s nearly noon, father,” said Alastair. “I’m here because it appears that our household items have gone missing.”

“Missing?” Elias squinted up at his son.

“Yes.” Alastair rolled his eyes. “As in gone.”

“Like what?”

“My writing desk, Cordelia’s doll house,” said Alastair. “Mum’s good China, the Tehran crafted weapons, the silver, and where’s the furniture that used to be in this room?”

“Alastair—“

“If you’re pawning our household items to support your drinking then—“ It wasn’t a question of if, nor was it an accusation. Alastair knew the truth, he knew even if he didn’t want to believe it.

“Then what?” asked Elias. “Go on, boy, finish your sentence.”

“You’ll not take one more thing from this house,” said Alastair.

Elias scoffed and attempted to push himself up from the floor when his hand landed on a piece of glass. Elias hissed and fell backwards again onto the floor. “Bloody hell!” He held his hand up, dripping now with fresh blood. “Don’t just stand there. Get me something to stench this with.”

Alastair sighed and walked across the room to the beverage cart. A towel hung from the silver handle, stained with spilt alcohol, Alastair grabbed it and brought it over to his father.

“Where is your steele?” asked Elias as he ripped the towel from Alastair’s hand.

“I don’t have one with me,” said the boy.

“What kind of Shadowhunter doesn’t carry around his steele?”

“I’m nearly ten, father,” reminded Alastair. “I’m hardly a Shadowhunter yet. I can go find yours if you’d like.”

Elias took the towel away from his hand and examined the wound in his palm. “No, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve clearly more pressing matters to attend to. Have you spoken to your mother about these missing items?”

“I haven’t wanted to trouble her—“

“Only me?” asked Elias. “I suppose I deserve that.” He got slowly and unsteadily to his feet. When he stepped backwards a few steps, Alastair had to stop himself from reaching out towards him. He looked like a toddler learning to walk for the first time.

The question dangled on Alastair’s tongue as he watched his father pitch forward and back like an aged ship on angry seas: why did he insist on drinking? When did he become a drunk? Alastair, honestly, couldn’t remember. There’d been a time when sobriety found him for a few months and then he’d be back on the streets again. Alastair was seven years old the first time he picked him up from the porch steps when he passed out before he’d made it inside. The first time, he’d thought it kind of comical, by the third time that week, he found it frightening. And now, he wanted to ask his father why. Why weren’t they enough for him? What was his father chasing that could be found or forgotten at the bottom of a bottle?

Alastair feared he might never know.

     _ _ _

The pocket watch ticked inside Alastair’s palm where he sat on the sofa in the drawing room waiting for Cordelia and Lucie to enter through the door. It was five past three; the time they were supposed to return. Questionably, James hadn’t returned either. Alastair knew he should have trusted his instincts over his sister’s word, but he’d allowed himself to feel marginally guilty about upsetting Cordelia.

How could she not understand he was simply trying to do what was best for her? She clearly wasn’t thinking straight— and to be honest she never had when it came to the Herondale boy. It would be over his dead body that he’d ever see James hand-in-hand with his sister.

No, not even then.

Alastair shoved his watch back into his pocket, stood from the chair retrieving his jacket from the arm, and marched towards the door.

“Oh,” said a voice behind him. “Are you leaving too?”

Alastair turned to find Thomas descending the stairs in his full fighting gear. His soft brown hair was combed back away from his face and curling slightly behind his ears. His scarred hands were adjusting the straps across his broad chest that just barely fit across him. Alastair swallowed and quickly averted his eyes to his shoes and then the front door.

With a strange pitch in his voice, Alastair said, “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“I came with my parents to meet the Herondales,” said Thomas tucking in the extra bit of leather left at the end of his strap. “I thought Christopher, Matthew, and James would be here, but it appears I am at a loss. Miss communication.”

“James is with Matthew on patrol,” said Alastair. “At least that’s what I was told.”

Thomas looked off to the side. “Then I’m sure that’s the truth of it. Where are you headed?”

“I’m supposed to meet my sister at the other Lightwood’s estate,” said Alastair. “She’s running a bit behind so I figured I’d spare her the trouble and catch her there.”

“I’m on my way there as well,” said Thomas. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Surprised, all words evaporated from Alastair’s mind. When he managed to find them again, a bright color had emerged in his cheeks. “Are you quite sure. I don’t mind finding my own way there.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Thomas reaching for the door knob. “We’re going in the same direction, not on an outing together, there’s no reason for us to take two separate carriages to the same destination.” Thomas opened the door and without waiting for Alastair to respond, he walked out onto the front steps.

Still slightly shocked, Alastair combed a hand through his hair, picked up his cane, and followed.

“What plans do you and Cordelia have today?” Thomas asked from atop the bench seat of his parent’s carriage.

Alastair, who’d chosen to remain quiet despite the kindness being extended to him, focused on the main road as he answered. “I’m not sure. She mentioned something about going to a park.” He was quite certain that was all that was going on between them. Perhaps his parents conjured him into being kind to the injured, isolated, and troubled Carstairs boy. Perhaps this was some sort of revenge and Thomas had alternative plans of dropping him into the Thames.

“It’s a lovely day for the park—“

“What are you doing?”

Thomas’s eyebrow jumped. “Excuse me?”

“This?” Alastair motioned between them. “This show of uncharacteristic kindness. I can tell it’s not genuine. Who put you up to this?”

Thomas sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I felt badly for the way I spoke to you the other day.”

Alastair had to fight to keep the shock from his face. “You felt bad? Thomas, you have nothing to feel badly about.”

“Perhaps,” said Thomas, “but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how unfair I was being towards you. Do not misunderstand me, this is not me granting you pardon for what you did, but rather an understanding.”

“Why?”

“Because when you created those lies about my father,” said Thomas, “I created lies for him, or what I thought were lies to help repair some of his reputation. My father, who is an upstanding citizen by most regards, and truly a wonderful father, and I was making up all kinds of lies to protect him even though I knew the rumors about him were lies— even though I believed him. I can’t imagine if the rumors were actually true.”

He didn’t have to say it. Alastair had long since learned to read between the lines of what someone was saying to him.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” said Alastair shortly.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” said Thomas, never removing his eyes from the road, “and I don’t pity you. I’m merely saying that I understand. In a way, I understand.”

With the wind brushing against his face, Alastair felt a weight of sorts brush off of him.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done to your family and Matthew’s,” said Alastair. “I’ve been minding my father’s reputation since I was a boy.”

“Why did you do it?” asked Thomas. “I know why I fought for my father’s reputation, but yours was an actual alcoholic.”

Alastair bristled. “Alcoholic or not, he is still my father.”

“I’m sorry if I offended—“

“You didn’t offend,” said Alastair. “I suppose I fought so hard to protect him for so long that I simply forgot how to not to. I’d been able to keep up a pretense about my father that at the first sign of trouble, my instinct was to defend him, and the only way I knew how to do that was to put the spotlight onto someone else. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t him I was trying to protect.”

“Yourself?” asked Thomas, as he steered the horse down an empty brick paved street.

“Cordelia,” said Alastair. “I was trying to protect Cordelia. She grew up believing that our father was someone to be admired. She held him on the same pedestal that the Herondale children held their father. I made sure that she never knew about his… illness.”

“Does she know now?”

“She does,” said Alastair. “I couldn’t protect her forever.”

“No,” said Thomas, drawing the horse to a stop at the brick pathway leading to a white gated entrance to a garden. “I suppose you can’t.”

Alastair looked up at the beautiful ivy crested veranda and tried to remember what had caused him to go fetch Cordelia in such a hast. Surely, she was all right with Lucie and if she was in fact with James, perhaps it was high time that she started worrying about her own mistakes. And if she needed him, he would surely be there for her.

“Perhaps I’ll wait here,” said Alastair. “While you go fetch Christopher.”

From the ground now, Thomas looked up at Alastair as he tied the horse to a post. “Would you like me to get Cordelia for you?”

“No,” said Alastair, adjusting his coat. “I shouldn’t trouble her. She’ll return when—“

Before he could finish his sentence, a high pitched scream came from inside the house. Thomas and Alastair both looked in the direction of which it had come and then back at each other.

“Cordelia,” said Alastair as he swung himself down from the driver’s bench as Thomas drew a steele from the strap on his shoulder and whispered its name to it. It burst to light in his hand, accenting his face in a halo of light.

The two men stalked up to the open front door: Alastair at the front, with Thomas trailing closely behind him, both of them scanning their surroundings.

Upon entering the house, it didn’t appear that anything was out of place through the kitchen. There was no sign of a scuffle or demon activity. Even though he didn’t know him all that well, Alastair wouldn’t put it past the odd glasses wearing one to release a demon during one of his poorly executed experiments.

They inched through the kitchen into the short hallway that went through to the sitting room. Attached to the room was a staircase and from the second floor, they could hear an exchanging of voices.

Alastair broke for the stairs at a run with Thomas close behind him. He followed the direction the voices were coming from and turned to the left, stopping at a door that was partially opened. He was seconds from storming it, when Thomas grabbed him by the coat tail and wretched him back.

“Wait,” said Thomas and stepped in front of him, “listen.”

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and centuries of old lies. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.”

Thomas grabbed Alastair’s arm and mouthed a name. “Belial.”

Suddenly, the door slammed in front of Alastair and he heard the faint sound of the lock.

“We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie,” said a male voice that Alastair could not recognize. “Don’t go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you.” The voice was clearly Lucie’s and if Lucie was in there then so would Cordelia. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” said a second voice laced with ill intention and century old lies.

Thomas glanced at Alastair and pointed at the medieval spear hanging on the wall in the hallway. Alastair reached up and pulled it carefully from it’s hooks as Thomas took several steps back, picked his foot up, and kicked their way through the lock with his heel in a single, impressive stomp. As Thomas reached for Lucie, pulling her away from the mysterious figure in the center of the room, Alastair threw the spear with every ounce of his might.

He watched it spiral through the air, quick as an arrow, and then stop mere inches from Belial’s chest. A wicked grin curled around the handsome face, as the spear evaporated and then reappeared faster then Alastair could blink.

It was warm, that was the first thing he thought about. Warmth spreading across his back and his chest. His eyes searched the room for Cordelia, but he couldn’t find her face amongst the ones he could not recognize. Everyone stared at him, the pale haired girl Grace and a dark haired boy sitting beside her looked on at him terrified. His eyes drifted to his left where Thomas held Lucie tightly in his arms both gaped at him horrified. He tried to say something, but his lungs had stopped expanding. When he looked down at his chest, he could see where the warmth had come from. The end of the spear protruded from his chest.

“Alastair!” Thomas yelled.

“Go,” he said, as rust flavored saliva dripped from between his lips. “Go now.”

“Release the girl,” said Belial, with his arms crossed and a rather bored expression on his face, “and the boy lives.”

Thomas’s grip on Lucie faltered just slightly.

“Don’t,” said Alastair. “He’s lying.”

“Let me go, Thomas,” said Lucie. “Let me go. He won’t let him die, he won’t if it means he can have me.”

“Listen to the girl, Thomas,” said Belial. “Save your friend and sacrifice the other or lose both.”

Alastair could see the turmoil in Thomas’s gritted teeth and reddened face, still his hands were white knuckled around Lucie. He wouldn’t let her go. Not unless—

Lucie brought her head forward and swung it back against Thomas’s sternum. With a quick maneuver of her feet, she twisted under his grip and shoved him off balance into the wall.

“Let them go,” said Lucie, her hair loose from it’s braid now and falling around her face giving her the appearance of a mad woman. “Let him live and I’ll go with you.”

Belial grinned and with a slight nod of his head, he and Lucie blinked from the room like a flash of lightning. Alastair was released from the spear in the wall and fell crumpled to the ground on his knees. His hands went to his chest to feel for the wound, but while the blood and hole in his shirt were still there, the wound and weapon were not.

A/N: Hope I redeemed myself just a little bit. Next update comes out 12/20

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

Do you think Doran's plan is as stupid as whites want us to believe? And do you bin that theory of -" what goes around comes back " with respect to stab alliance

I think Doran’s plan - and Arianne’s, for that matter - is frequently misunderstood, just as Doran and Arianne themselves are. It’s not about plot. It’s about character.

People are always trying to pick apart these plans, talking about why they failed, if they were good, if they were bad, under which circumstances they would have succeeded. But none of that is the point. And people approaching it from that lens are never going to be able to come to a satisfactory conclusion, because that’s not what their stories are about. With all that in mind, I don’t believe that Doran’s plan was a bad one, and the reason why is that the people constantly talking about it misunderstand what his motivation is and so consider events to  be his failures that really aren’t. The main example of this is, of course, not sending assistance to Viserys and Daenerys in Essos.

Doran brings up his plan to make Arianne Viserys’s queen, and people think of that as the goal - Viserys as king, Arianne as queen, and the Martells as the kingmakers. And when you look at it in that regard, yeah, it was a failure. Had Doran sent Viserys assistance in some way or form, perhaps things would have turned out differently. But you shouldn’t look at it in that regard because that’s not the point - Doran’s goal is vengeance for Elia in a way that does not risk harm to Dorne. That is the lens through which every decision he makes must be filtered through. Not how his actions or lack thereof served to advance Viserys.

Viserys was a means to an end. Doran really had no personal stake in Viserys being king - like, maybe it would be nice, they had common family and are distant cousins after all, but it’s not the end goal. It’s not what he desperately wants. And how long he waited before acting makes far, far more sense if you look at it in that light. It wasn’t an overabundance of caution - well, it partially was, but not for the reasons people calling him a “deconstruction of the chessmaster trope” believe.

If Viserys couldn’t gather an army and make it to Westeros on his own, putting him on the throne would have been a fool’s errand. Viserys needed to demonstrate that he was a candidate worth backing. Leaving him to his own devices meant waiting to see if he would become a king worth following. If he could drum up support, then great! Welcome to Westeros, King Viserys, here’s an army ready to fight for you once you marry our princess and promise us justice for your good sister, niece, and nephew. If he couldn’t, the Martells would lose nothing, and still be in a position to avenge Elia. Because that’s what matters to them.

Perhaps even more importantly, Doran is still grieving for his sister when we meet him. Of course he was even more cautious in years closer to her death! He was traumatized by how badly Elia’s marriage ended and how marrying a Targaryen killed her! Surely it’s perfectly reasonable that he wanted to see how Viserys would turn out before marrying his only daughter to him?! He’s coming from a perspective of caution because he’s still grieving for his sister. Maybe if his mother had waited longer, Rhaegar would have proven himself to be unstable. Maybe then, Elia would still be alive.

Time proved Doran right to not send Viserys aid because Viserys was incapable of mustering support. He couldn’t convince anyone that he was capable or that his cause was worthwhile, and he couldn’t even get an army after selling Dany to Drogo because he pissed the man off so badly that he killed him. You could maybe argue that Viserys would have been less unstable with some form of assistance. But, depending on what form of assistance, it’s just as likely that he would have grown even more entitled and less capable of leading a rebellion. This was not an example of Doran delaying and failing to do anything useful. Where he was too cautious was his failure to let Arianne into the loop.

This is where it becomes clear that even many people that don’t think Doran’s plan is stupid still miss the point. Those people claim that it’s not because they think that 1) Doran’s plan is much more complicated than what we’re aware of and that he’s pulling all kinds of strings with multiple balls in the air and 2) he’s still hiding things from and manipulating Arianne. That’s honestly essentially the same attitude as the people that think Doran’s plan is stupid - these people still think someone is stupid, just that it’s Arianne, not Doran, arguing that Arianne “proved she couldn’t be trusted” and so of course Doran is still keeping secrets from her. That is not what those chapters prove at all. Arianne is not the only one humbled by their conversation in the tower. She just isn’t. To suggest that she was is blatantly ignoring the text. Their entire conversation is about finally being open and honest with each other. Doran is staggered to find out that he’s misjudged her. He had no idea how much or why their relationship had deteriorated. He had no idea why young Arianne had started acting rebelliously. He’d been completely wrong in his interpretation of her as a gossipy teenager unable to keep secrets. In that scene, he had to face the fact that he screwed up and that he really should have trusted her. Doran proved to Arianne that he couldn’t be trusted. That’s why she did what she did at all. And yes, she was operating on incomplete information. But she was not drawing unreasonable conclusions and absolutely not demonstrating that she can’t be trusted.

Now it’s important to reiterate that this mistake does not make Doran or his plan dumb. It makes him a flawed human that made an error in judgement but by working together with his daughter that he now recognizes is very clever, he was able to salvage his plan. That in turn demonstrates how he is a good person that’s capable of humility and acknowledging his failures, and how he’s a smart person that can learn from his mistakes and grow and use other people’s talents effectively.

Similarly, Arianne is not stupid or incompetent. Not at all. As I’ve said so many times I’ve lost track, Arianne and Doran are pretty much the same character. The entire point is these two people that love each other so much struggling to communicate when it should be very easy because they’re extremely alike. You can’t understand one without understanding the other. If you believe Doran is smart, you cannot dismiss Arianne as stupid or incompetent. She’s not. What her plan is at surface level could have worked. But that wasn’t the point thematically, and that wasn’t what Arianne actually cared about. Just as Doran’s end goal wasn’t to name Viserys king, Arianne’s was not to crown Myrcella. It was about Arianne herself. That was the point, not having all the brown characters be acting for the sake of white blonde people. Affirming her status as the heir to Dorne was the point. And you know what? In that, she succeeded. She forced Doran to actually talk to her. She got what she wanted. And just as Doran is greatly humbled by his conversation with Arianne, Arianne is as well. She calls herself foolish repeatedly, she refers to herself as “playing” at the game of thrones, she defends Doran to her cousins and proudly thinks of herself as his daughter. She’s overcompensating for her previous mistrust and years of hurt feelings in a way that demonstrates how she, too, can learn and grow.

...what was the question again? Sorry. I love Doran and Arianne, and at every opportunity, I will gush about them. 😂

I’m not quite sure which theory you’re referring to - the one where team Martell kills Tommen and Myrcella? The thing about that is...I think it’s actually fairly likely that Martin uses it. But I think that’ll be an example of him losing sight of his theme, characters, and plots for the sake of events he wants to write, just as I think Arianne marrying Aegon would be. It would be grossly unfair in a way that equates the Martells with the Lannisters, which is just profoundly not at all true given what we’ve seen of them.

It’s not that it’s a bad idea to kill Tommen and Myrcella. Of course not. That makes thematic sense. It ties into the idea of Tywin’s beloved legacy crumbling to pieces because of his actions. But it would be unfair and terrible writing to pin that on the Sand Snakes, who made it clear that much of their anger at Doran was his prevaricating and refusal to let them do anything, who promised that they would follow him now. Of course the brown women don’t get to be humanized into people that are better than to murder children. Of course when they kill those children, it’ll be in defiance of their promise to their uncle because on top of being murderers, they’re disloyal, too. And the question is, what is the point of that? It strips the Sand Snakes of their nuance and insists that comments they make in anger and grief are the extent of their character. It’s gross and racist and dehumanizes them in ways that other people that talk about child murder just aren’t dehumanized. The reason Stannis hesitated so much before he agreed to burn Edric wasn’t that Edric was an innocent child, it was because he was his nephew! But no one paints him as an evil monster that has no qualms about murder. It’s just terrible.

Or are you talking about how the Stark/Tully/Arryn/Baratheon families did not fare well after accepting the gift of corpses in a way that indicates some form of cosmic punishment for what they did to Rhaenys and Aegon? Which...sort of. The Baratheon dynasty collapsed into civil war upon Robert’s death. He was killed by his own wife, his children turned out not to be his children, and his brothers started waging war on each other. More directly to do with his treatment of Cersei than his acceptance of the murders of the Targaryen heirs, but also seems kind of karmic. Jon Arryn may well have been the last Lord Arryn. Ned lost his head, all kinds of terrible things happened to his kids, and Winterfell went to the Boltons. The war decimated the Riverlands, Hoster died without ever reconciling with his younger daughter, Catelyn was murdered then came back as a vengeful zombie, and the Tullys lost Riverrun. Is any of this connected with Elia/Rhaenys/Aegon’s murders? Not directly. But it doesn’t feel like too much of a stretch to argue that things may have been better had any of these people taken a firmer stance against those murders.

[robotslenderman]

How Rowan/Rose met Ilias

Oof so I had some headcanon on how Rowan (AKA Rose) (I’ve been fiddling with her, sorry, hence the messing around with the name) ran into Ilias

and that was BEFORE I found out who Ilias USED TO BE INVOLVED WITH HOLY SHIT and now this encounter looks a whole lot more terrifying yikes.

But here it is -- what happened to Rowan after leaving the Tremere, and how she ran into Ilias and started crushing on him.

So -- Rowan was the name of the Tremere whose identity my Salubri took on when she went to the New World. Obviously, that identity’s last name is not Elensdottir, but I had to differentiate her from ESO!Rowan as they’ve become two entirely different characters. After a while Rowan was tired of lying to herself about her ability to one day bring back the Salubri, and had learned -- she felt -- everything she could learn with the Tremere without risking exposure by using her abilities.

So she left. She wrote a letter to Strauss and left it in her room in the Chantry, telling him the truth of who she was and what she’d uncovered about her clan in the process of being with the Tremere, and left it behind. She wasn’t going to risk telling him in person. She hoped that maybe Strauss wouldn’t bear her such ill-will he’d kill her on sight, and that maybe she’d plant a little seed of doubt regarding the reputation of the Salubri in his mind...

... but she didn’t hold her breath. And that was why she left a letter instead of telling him in person.

Once she’d vanished from LA, she took on the name Rose d’Eleanor. Rose was the name she was born with, and d’Eleanor was in honour of her mother, with whom she’d been very close -- “of Eleanor.” She traveled around using various names and posing as a different clan here and there, but as a Salubri she was always Rose.

It was good to be Rose again.

(I like to think she met Matthew from Beckett’s Jyhad Diary. That they’d met at Castle Hunedoara, or however you spell it, and both had survived and promised to meet again. The first other Salubri she ever met, well over a century after her own Embrace. I like to think they were brother and sister.)

She traveled. She didn’t want to stay in one place too long in case she got revealed or had trouble maintaining an identity. Travel was very hard, since she couldn’t use Disciplines around other Kindred, money was very difficult to come by, and she couldn’t exactly use Protean like Elisa did whenever the sun was getting awful close to rising. She had a much harder time than Elisa did, and she had many mornings where she regretted leaving the Chantry at all and wishing she’d just kept on lying to her friends and family there because it’d mean shelter and relative safety.

But she’d burned that bridge by telling them what she was, so she couldn’t go back.

In New York she heard about Elias Athanasios’s collection of art and historical artefacts.

She didn’t have an invitation, so she broke in.

She used what Tremere magic she knew and broke into the gallery one night when it was closed to other Kindred, and used that blood magic to get around the wards.

Not all of them. Only the ones she knew how to find. Ilias noticed there was an intruder immediately and found her. I mean, dude’s nine hundred years old, he probably has a shitton of tricks Rose has never even heard of.

Now, Rose immediately went oh SHIT because she’d tried so hard to avoid pissing off other Kindred, and she just got caught by the gallery’s fucking owner no less, breaking into his gallery. Expecting her ass to get curbstomped, she stutters her apologies and promises to leave without any drama.

Ilias calmly asked Rose who she was and what she was doing there.

Rose introduced herself with one of her identities -- Jane the Caitiff. She said, she badly wanted to see the exhibition but as a Caitiff who was just passing through she could never hope to secure an invitation, so she just... thought she’d have a look herself. And again, she apologised profusely and said she never wanted to cause any trouble or conflict, she only wanted to have a look and then leave.

(She didn’t quite get to the point of begging for her life, because that would just piss off a lot of Kindred and disgust them, but it was heavily implied.)

Now, this could be totally out of character because I don’t know Ilias from anywhere other than BJD.

But in my head, Ilias offered her a tour.

I don’t know if he believed her. I’m pretty sure he would have been suspicious about her story -- what Caitiff introduces themself as Caitiff, let alone without being asked? What kindred gets confronted by another and immediately backs down and rolls over like Rose did? And he must have been certain she was breaking in to steal the artefacts, not actually look at them.

But in my head he still offered her his arm, and said he’d give her a tour.

And Rose is like... if I accept this I am TOTALLY going to get destroyed.

But, well, she thought Ilias was a Toreador who could easily outrun her if she tried to bolt (yay Celerity), and she really did want to see the historic artefacts... so she accepted. Fully accepting that yeah, he’s probably going to try and kill her at some point.

He was probably going to destroy her whether she ran or not, may as well have the tour first.

So he showed her around. Showed her the art and the historic artefacts -- noticed that she seemed most interested in the history than the art, so he directed most of his attention there, and noticed that she actually had more knowledge of history than the average Kindred. She seemed to be very well-educated, especially for a Caitiff (not that he asked, because that would be Rude and Tzimisce do not DO Rude*), so I think he quite enjoyed talking to her and teaching her -- filling in little gaps in her knowledge.

* I mean, nobody ever described torture as rude now, did they?

I think he actually found her quite fascinating. She’s allegedly a Caitiff who, for some reason, was apparently open about her identity as one (immediate thought: “she’s actually from a clan worse than Caitiff”) and has a lot of education. And when she admitted she got that education from rifling through Tremere libraries (an apparent Caitiff) that just fascinated him even more because holy shit, you broke into Tremere libraries??? (not that he said that, rather subtly encouraging her to elaborate. She didn’t.) And he found it endearing that she was quick to assure him she always put the books back in the same condition as she found them, because most Kindred wouldn’t specify that.

“Jane” clearly was on her own and valued knowledge highly. Any suspicion he had of her at first that she was incredibly dangerous ended up ebbing because she was just so sincere.

Rowan/Rose was absolutely delighted by this tour and what he taught her, and let down her guard a bit because “well he’s going to kill me anyway.”

And then he didn’t.

When the tour was over and they’d had a good long chat afterwards about his exhibition, he just took her to the door and let her out.

And she was like, “What, you’re not going to destroy me?”

And he was like, no, you’ve given me no reason to.

“I broke into your gallery. Isn’t that enough reason?”

And he points out she was quite gracious and polite, trespass notwithstanding.

So she’s... really touched. And she thanks him, and leaves.

And develops a monster crush on him whoops.

A while later she writes him a letter -- apologises about lying to him about being a Caitiff called Jane, but that it was for her own safety and that given how kindly he treated her, she honestly does truly regret lying to him. She doesn’t regret hiding the truth, because she has to for her own survival, but she does regret lying to him.

She thanks him sincerely and from the bottom of her heart for the kindness he showed her, explains her interest in history (the Salubri, especially) and gives him the letter her sire gave her. It’s old, it’s yellowed and almost falling apart, and the ink has faded quite a bit -- but it’s still legible.

Part of Rose’s letter is this part:

It’s nothing, compared to the artefacts you have. It’s just a letter from one Salubri to his orphaned childe, and isn’t important at all in a historic context.

But you thought I was Caitiff. You thought I was a clan lower than dirt, and I’d broken into your gallery, and you still showed me a tremendous amount of kindness that I’ve never, ever seen from any Kindred.

I’m giving this to you because I can never repay your kindness. I’m a Salubri constantly on the run from those who think I want to devour their souls, from those who’d kill me on sight the second they saw my third eye. I have nothing to give you. I will never be able to repay you. I will always have nothing.

But I do have this. And this means everything to me, just as your kindness did -- and so I repay you the best way I can. The only way I can.

I know it must be worthless to you, but it means the world to me. So please take care of it. It’s falling apart because over the years, there have been periods where I haven’t been able to preserve it properly, preserve it as it deserves, but if you decide to keep it I know you can treat it right.

Thank you, Elias. For everything.

Rose d’Eleanor

Clan Salubri

(childe of etc etc etc)

Again, dunno if it’s in or out of character... but in my head Ilias was actually deeply touched that she gave it to him, because even though it’s no magical artefact it was obviously such a personal thing, and also a little disturbed and sad that she’s so unused to kindness that her first response to being shown any is to throw at him the thing that means most to her in the entire world.

And in my head he preserves it in glass and puts it in his gallery, along with the letter she wrote him. Strauss will see it one day and be like “hang on a sec, I know that name...”

also it pisses off Aisling Sturbridge so that’s just another bonus of putting it in his gallery

Again, I’m probably taking liberties with his character, but I think it inspires Ilias to start looking at historical artefacts from a personal perspective, afterwards. Like instead of just collecting art and the Big Important Artefacts, he starts collecting things like letters and keepsakes of Kindred who are long gone, making history a little more personal.

and I like to think that having those letters in his gallery plants a bit of a dormant seed in the Kindred community. A seed that says “maybe the Salubri aren’t what the Tremere made them out to be.” A seed that says, “hey, you guys, remember how the Tremere are utter bastards? Maybe they’re the bastards here yet again!”

anyway that was BEFORE I found out that he was Sascha’s lover and that he’s probably just as fucking evil deep down, at which point I peed a little on Rose’s behalf. WOO. BECAUSE THE ONLY THING ALMOST AS TERRIFYING AS BEING STUCK IN A ROOM WITH SASCHA VYKOS IS BEING STUCK IN A ROOM WITH SOMEONE WHO WAS IN LOVE WITH THEM YIIIKES.

Oh Rose, of course you fucking glommed onto someone who might be genuinely horrible because they were nice to you.

and now I’ve made myself really really sad, because the whole Salubri lot in unlife is sad. :(

[rainhalydia]

The character game: Theon Geyjoy (because I can't resist and need more validation for my boy, especially with the last month I've had), Elia Martell, Asha Greyjoy, Ashara Dayne, Arianne/Oberyn/Doran Martell, Brienne of Tarth, Jaime/Tyrion Lannister, Gonna Lannister, Saint Seiya: Scorpio Milo, Aquarius Camus, Andromeda Shun, Virgo Shaka, Sailor Moon: Sailor Pluto, Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Venus

Hey, nonny! Sorry if the last month sucked, I hope the next one is better!

Thanks for the ask! Have all my opinions!

Theon Greyjoy

How I feel about this character: I LOVE HIM!!! MY RESILIENT TRASH SQUID PRINCE!!!

In a less histrionic note, it’s amazing how well-written he is. It’s my dream to one day write something so beautiful and well-crafter as Theon’s whole arc.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Robb most of all, but also Kyra and Patrek Mallister to a lesser degree. Even so, I feel like Robb was the love of his life and even if he has a romantic endgame in Jeyne P., it’s going to be a Loras situation all over again.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Jeyne P., because no one else can understand them like they do given their shared trauma, but also Wex and Asha. And Dagmer!

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s never ever done anything wrong ever in his life   Everyone who dislikes him is wrong Seriously, he’s competent. People love to ignore that because he’s such a mess, but it’s worth noticing that we’re inside his head and privy to all his thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t come across nearly as insecure and headless to other people as he actually is, or he wouldn’t be able to control his men in Winterfell or during the raids, or to take control of Moat Cailin later.

Also, while it’s true he picked all the worst choices, he had no good options.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: He has to survive. I speak this into existence! I love him too much for him to die, and I’m sick of the redemption equals death trope. He better survive and become an explorer.

Elia Martell

How I feel about this character: Deserved so much better in all fronts :(

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one, really. Her husband fucked her over, and so did the other characters I’ve seen being shipped with her (Lyanna and Arthur Dayne), plus I don’t know her enough to be invested. Maybe that suitor Oberyn says she was interested in? The one who farted.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Oberyn and Doran! They love her so much! I like to think she’d get along very well with Ellaria too.

My unpopular opinion about this character: That I’m not nearly as invested in her as most of fandom? Or maybe that I think that before the Queen of Love and Beauty fiasco, she loved Rhaegar, possibly even after still. He’s handsome, courteous, sensitive, a prince who will make her queen in time. What is there not to love? I think she was completely blindsided by the Lyanna thing, both at the tournement and when Rhaegar disappeared with her.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That she had taken Rhaenys to visit her uncles in Dorne right after that tournement and stayed there while the whole thing developed in the capital

Asha Greyjoy

How I feel about this character: I LOVE HER!!! If she’s not queen by the end I’m suing.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Qarl! Alysane! Tris when he learns to shut up about the pimples.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Her uncle Rodrik and Theon! For all that she’s friendly, I think Asha is pretty reserved and hard to know.

My unpopular opinion about this character: That whole part when she pretends to be Esgred is cringe-worth. I know people find it funny, but as an older sister to a loving shy dumbass, I die from second-hand embarassement for her more than for Theon. She manages to come across as worse than Theon, and that’s saying something! It’s just not okay to grope your brother, Asha! And still, that scene says a lot about Asha’s own insecurities and the person she has to be to keep her place and freedom... and yet, I find it difficult to say her actions were justified.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I feel pretty confident she’s going to live, so I want her to become queen and start some deep economical and cultural reforms with the surviving ironborn.

Ashara Dayne

How I feel about this character: Indifferent. Even more so than with Lyanna and Elia, I don’t feel like I know her at all. We know she was very pretty, that she used to laugh and that she met a tragic end, but that’s pretty much it.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one, especially not Barristan.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Again, no one. I know people seem to think of her and Elia as friends, and w know she was at the tournement, but again, not much to go by.

My unpopular opinion about this character: Don’t know how unpopular this is, but she definitely had sex with Brandon that time, not Ned.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I don’t know, I think it’s very unlikely, but it would be fun if she turned out to be secretly alive after all for some perspective on the past generation and the events pre-rebellion, but I don’t want her to be Lemore nor Howland’s wife.

Arianne Martell

How I feel about this character: She’s okay, her chapters are entertaining, but not favorite material

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Arys and Daemon

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Her friends Drey, Garin and Sylva

My unpopular opinion about this character: This is way more on GRRM than on her, but it’s plain umconfortable how she had a crush on and very sexual thoughts about Oberyn at such a young age.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That she could actually meet Quentyn and see that he was never a threat to her :(

Oberyn Martell

How I feel about this character: I like him, but I like Doran better. He could have done a better job raising his daughters.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Ellaria! They were very in love and committed, and I feel like she brought out the best in him.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Doran and Elia

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s not as hot-headed as his reputation leads us to believe. He’s in complete control in KL until the end, it was pretty much bad luck that got him killed. Which makes me believe that all the other things that he did to earn his bad rep were done with open eyes.

He’s also not as awesome a father as fandom seems to believe. Maybe he got better with the younger ones, but I don’t really like the Sand Snakes and I think the way they are willing to walk all over Doran and talk badly about Ellaria reflects badly on him. And what we do know about his parenting style (taking Obara from her mother the way he did, saying they’ll need to kill any abusive husbands they get because he won’t help) makes Doran look like father of the year.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That he got justice for Elia and her children, that he took Tyrion to Dorne and they became friends.

Doran Martel

How I feel about this character: I like him and I think he’s smart. His plans could do with a bit of feedback, but he’s not dumb.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one, really. I feel like he’s still hung up on his wife.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Oberyn, Elia, Aero

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don’t think he’s overcautious or too slow, I think he has internalized that his first duty is to Dorne so he can’t go starting wars willy-nilly. If he could, he’d rain as much revenge on Elia’s murderers as Oberyn

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That he had shut the Sand Snakes down harder when they called him a coward.

Brienne of Tarth

How I feel about this character: MY DAUGHTER! SHE’S SO SWEET!

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Jaime, maybe Hyle if he repents and gets his act together

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Pod, Catelyn, her dad

My unpopular opinion about this character: She would probably be happy being a regular lady if things went that route for her, especially because as the heir to Tarth, she’d be the one rulling her land and having a consort, not the other way around... I also think she would be good at it and be respected. Yes, I think people did ridicule and bully and disrespect her, but the fact that her septa, who was her main caregiver, was in on it, might have warped her perception of how others saw her. The bet too. Her master of arms, for example, respected and liked her, Cat too, so Brienne can and does inspire loyalty.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I don’t think she’ll find Sansa, but I wish she would find at least Arya and get part of her oath to Cat done.

Jaime Lannister

How I feel about this character: I enjoy his povs a lot, he’s very funny, but he’s not one of my favorites

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Brienne

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Tyrion, his squires, that guy who has stopped shaving

My unpopular opinion about this character: I feel like, even if he had confesssed the reason why he killed Aerys, people would still judge him as a Kingslayer anyway. I don’t think it’s reprehensible that he kept quiet in the circumstances. Maybe it was irresponsible to just let the wildfire lying around, but he had no way to know it was dangerous.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I want him to be the one to kill Cersei, but I want it to be because she’s becoming Aerys 2.0, not because he’s jealous.

Tyrion Lannister

How I feel about this character: I love him a lot! He’s sadly relatable, though I’m definitely not that smart. The way he won’t let people forget he’s there, that he’s smart and capable and that he won’t accept them walking all over him is the best.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Dany! I think it’s a given that he’ll fall for her. I also think it’s a given that she’ll fall for Jon, but I’d like her to at least have some feelings for him as well, to be divided, etc. Though if it comes to that, I’d rather she ended with Tyrion.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Jon, Bronn, Pod. I like to think the mountain clans think fondly of him as well.

My unpopular opinion about this character: He never really loved Shae. I don’t know how unpopular this is, but he didn’t love her and he was wrong to kill her even with the public humiliation and everything, and I think he’s aware of these facts. Not to say the sense of betrayal wasn’t real.

Also, he was 100% in the right when killing Tywin. It’s sad only because it sends Tyrion to such dark places, but really, a public service.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Third head of the dragon, baby!

Genna Lannister

How I feel about this character: She annoys me!

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one. I wish she felt happier with her husband, but shipping is too strong a word.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Joanna Lannister. She very much doesn’t strike me as someone who has close friends.

My unpopular opinion about this character: She’s not a cool aunt or a loving aunt or whatever. Her talk with Jaime in his pov doesn’t strike me as them having a close relationship, and she’s basically a non-entity in Tyrion’s and Cersei’s thoughts from what I remember. For all that she criticizes Tywin, she seems to be a lot like him imho.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Well, if she’s not in the Red Wedding Redux (if that happens), she’s got to be aound it. It would be interesting to see her reaction to it.

Scorpio Milo

How I feel about this character: He’s alright. Bit of an asshole, which I like

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one. People seem to ship him with Aioria and Camus in particular, I’m okay with that.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: The other gold saints

My unpopular opinion about this character: His signature attack is cool in theory and lame in practice.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That he got more character development. He gets little even for a minor character.

Aquarius Camus

How I feel about this character: He’s okay. I’m not very invested

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one. He seems to get paired up a lot with Milo, I guess that’s fine.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Hyoga, the other gold saints.

My unpopular opinion about this character: By adding the Crystal Saint, the anime turns a touching moment into something hilarious when Hyoga and him fight and trace back their saint genealogy

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That he hadn’t frozen Hyoga. What the fuck did that even accomplish???

Andromeda Shun

How I feel about this character: I LOVE HIM! He was the first character that made me stop and think a little deeper about morals.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Hyoga in the anime, June in the manga

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Seiya, Ikki, his master

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s the more mature of the bronze saints, not only because he’s quiter and calmer, but because he’s the only one to think things through. He’s the only one who reflects about their situation in a conscious way. And he’s smart.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish he had actually died in his Hades arc. I think it would make for a better story

Virgo Shaka

How I feel about this character: I like him a lot, his Hades arc helped a lot with that

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one... I’d read whatever back when I was more into Saint Seiya, but I have no particular preferences

My non-romantic OTP for this character: The other gold saints, especially Aioria. They’ve come a long way and it was really sad how angry Aioria got about his death.

My unpopular opinion about this character: He’s way more of an asshole than people give him credit for.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish he had lived, but again, they had to die, such is the nature of shonen manga XD

Sailor Pluto

How I feel about this character: I don’t know, she’s not as interesting as the outer senshi, but she’s alright

All the people I ship romantically with this character: No one

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Haruka and Michiru

My unpopular opinion about this character: None, really. I don’t have a lot of opinions on her.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I’m more than okay with the end of Sailor Moon, including hers

Sailor Jupiter

How I feel about this character: I did not appreciate her enough the first time I read this manga, but she is awesome

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Ami, just a little bit

My non-romantic OTP for this character: All the other senshi

My unpopular opinion about this character: Much of the sense of her being an outsider gets lost in translation, which is a pity since it’s such an integral part of her character.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I’m pretty happy with how things turned out for her :)

Sailor Venus

How I feel about this character: I had such a crush on her growing up XD

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I don’t actively ship it, but I think her and Mars are cute together

My non-romantic OTP for this character: All the other senshi, Artemis

My unpopular opinion about this character: The anime made her more immature than she was originally, but that doesn’t mean she was super adult in the original either. She had a lot on her plate so she stepped up. Her growth was more subtle than for her anime counterpart, but it was there

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I’m pretty satisfied with the way the story ends, everyone including Venus alive and happy. Western authors, learn something from this!

[raviposting]

All right after like 2 freaking years and like 5 unanswered headcanon requests in my inbox I’m going right ahead and giving you what literally no one asked for: shitposts of The Afterlife Squad(TM): 

Robert, Ned, and Rhaegar are like, almost always together. Or, more like, Robert and Rhaegar are constantly arguing and following Ned around asking him what he thinks. 

Rhaegar suddenly looooooves Ned because he knows Ned kept Jon safe and Ned is just like *side eyes* “I didn’t do it for you you dildo” but he also can’t say anything so whenever Robert asks why Rhaegar cares about Ned’s opinion Ned just kind of sighs and shrugs and says maybe it’s his punishment and Rhaegar gets this evil grin on his face and goes “You’ll see”. 

This inevitably gets Robert pissed. “See what, you asshole?” and out breaks a new bit of arguing. Ned is tired(TM) and no one else in the afterlife will talk to them. 

Cat comes through for a hot second and Ned is super excited but then just like that she’s gone and Beric Dondarrion is in her place and they just stare at each other.

Ned: “Well. This sucks.” 

When Robb and Rickon both come through Ned hugs them ofc and they have a nice moment and then he just goes “Okay now go before they get here.” 

“What? Father, I just got here and you want me to go? We have so much to catch up on!” 

Ned, who is having war flashbacks to Robert and Rhaegar arguing about lapels for 5 hours: “Trust me. You Don’t Want This.” 

Someone said that the two days Jon was in the afterlife he and Robb did tequila shots and honestly? Canon. 

They love watching what’s happening down below!! Robert didn’t talk to Ned for a blissful 2 months after finding out about Jon but then Gendry and Arya just had to sleep together and Robert was suddenly buddy-buddy with him again about how they were going to join their houses. 

Arya rejecting Gendry’s proposal: Robert was screaming, yelling about how this made no sense, and dammit why did Ned raise his daughter like this? 

Ned, softly: Oh thank god 

Watching Jon and Dany is #rough and Robert keeps being so righteously smug about everything and Ned and Rhaegar are suffering 

“Ha, the Targaryen queen is mad after all. I should have killed her when I had the chance, shouldn’t I, Ned?” “Hey, that’s my sister, you prick, she’s being a Targaryen it doesn’t make sense for her to be this mad she hasn’t shown the signs!” 

Ned & Robert in unison: “Shut up Rhaegar.” 

Ned: “.......but yes he’s right this doesn’t make sense.” 

Ned multiple times watching his children s5-8: *looks out window in the afterlife* ‘Did I somehow end up watching the badly written play Arya was watching?’ 

Ned in the finale, watching his children come into strong positions: *holds up Westerosi equivalent of a camera and multiple signs* I Love My Children 

Also lmao Robb and Rickon. Robb is Sansa’s biggest cheerleader and he Loves Jon greatly but by god does he get frustrated with him. 

“No, Jon, this is - NO! LISTEN. TO. SANSA. Holy fuck Jon thank the gods I didn’t legitimatize yo-SHE’S YOUR AUNT YOU - JON! JON!” 

When Sansa gets crowned he literally tears up and starts shouting “Queen in the North!” and won’t shut up about Sansa and everyone’s like, Okay, Damn, We Get It(TM) 

Rickon: “Hey Robb! I love Sansa too but oh my god. Shut up!” 

Robb, wearing a “Proud Brother of Sansa Stark” t-shirt and slowly lowering his Queen In The North signs with Sansa’s face on them: “Sorry, have I been mentioning that Sansa became queen in the North? I guess I didn’t notice haha.” 

Rickon’s response to everything in season 8: “Hahahaha this is fucking dumb.” 

Rickon was bitter when Viserion died bc he became a wight but then Rhaegal died and everyone else was shocked and Rickon is jumping up and down because fuck yeah time to ride a dragon in the afterlife. 

I feel like meeting the significant others would be super fun??? Like Margaery is there and she starts talking about Sansa and Robb is like “:D” and then he starts realizing that she definitely liked her and he’s like “huh. She doesn’t seem bad but I only have 13-year-old Sansa’s taste in guys to go with here soOOOOO.....” 

Robb always wondered if Bran liked Meera or Jojen and Rickon lowkey wondered too but then they meet Jojen again and he’s So Fucking Weird that they’re both like. Oh yeah. Why was this ever a question. 

Lyanna and Elia are both in the afterlife but for the most part they hang out with each other and ignore everyone else except for snide commentary. 

Whenever Cat does comes back she’s more than a little peeved at Ned. “Didn’t think I could keep the secret, could you? I hated Jon, and you couldn’t bother to go, ‘Oh, hey, Cat, darling, he’s not my son????’ You couldn’t, Ned????” “I’m sorry, Cat, I was sworn to secrecy -” 

Lyanna, eating popcorn in the corner: “Oh I meant don’t tell Robert or anyone with you know, power. I thought that was pretty obvious don’t blame me for you being too hardcore about it.” Ned: “Yeah you’re right I guess I should have assumed you were fine with it after all you NAMED HIM AEGON!” This causes a “hey” from Rhaegar and Lyanna, and Robert just says that it is dumb and the trio starts arguing. “Oye, Cat, amazing that they can’t even get along in the -” “I’m not talking to you, Eddard.” “Oh, Cat, I’m sorry. You can’t be mad at me forever.” “Actually I can!” “Caaaaaat.”

Rhaegar, watching Arya be Azor Ahai while Ned & Robert cheer in the background: *eye twitching* 

Elia: “Huh. Guess you really did All That for nothing, huh babe?” “Don’t.”

Robert: “Lyanna loved me, tell him my love, we were betrothed!” 

Lyanna: “I’ve told you a million times I never loved you.” 

Rhaegar: “HA!” 

Elia: “You were a boy toy, hun.” 

“Elia! That’s -” “Unfair? Is it?” “Yes!” “Oh, sorry. Does it make you want to annul your marriage to me and directly cause our children’s deaths and put me in immediate harm with no real protection because you want to go after a fantasy story? Honey?” “....sorry.” 

[lingenthusiast]

Do you want to talk about it?

Mercoledì - 27 febbraio 2019 - ore 21:34

Filippo: (21:34) Thanks for this evening, Eli Filippo: (21:34) I hope you had as much fun as I did

Elia smiled when he saw the messages. He did have fun. A lot. Talking, fooling around, taking, making out, talking, shagging, talking some more… It was nice and he loved that it started to become a regular thing. When he and Filippo first started meeting, he always thought it was a one-time-thing. Even after the third and fourth time, he was fairly sure that Filippo was in it just for the fun. After seeing each other several times a week for two months straight and texting whenever they were not around each other, he was positive they were dating, even though it wasn’t official. Somehow, it didn’t need to be.

Summary: Elia’s father is verbally abusive and Filippo is there for him afterwards.

warning: toxic parenting, verbal abuse, physical abuse mentions

and thanks once again to @loving-nicotino​ for reading through this <3

Filippo: (21:34) Thanks for this evening, Eli Filippo: (21:34) I hope you had as much fun as I did

Elia smiled when he saw the messages. He did have fun. A lot. Talking, fooling around, taking, making out, talking, shagging, talking some more… It was nice and he loved that it started to become a regular thing. When he and Filippo first started meeting, he always thought it was a one-time-thing. Even after the third and fourth time, he was fairly sure that Filippo was in it just for the fun. After seeing each other several times a week for two months straight and texting whenever they were not around each other, he was positive they were dating, even though it wasn’t official. Somehow, it didn’t need to be.

Elia: (21:34) I did have fun, yes Elia: (21:35) Thanks right back to you Filippo: (21:35) Especially for the second bj Filippo: (21:35) I give you an A+ for that one Elia: (21:35) Excuse me, all of my bjs are A+ Filippo: (21:35) A++ then Elia: (21:36) Thanks, teacher Filippo: (21:36) That sounds kinky Filippo: (21:36) I like it Elia: (21:36) I bet you do

He was grinning like mad when he unlocked the front door of their house and walked the stairs up to their apartment. It was a small but beautiful apartment, exactly the right size for him, his mum and his two younger sisters. When his mum had left his father a few years ago, she had left the house to him and Elia was glad for it. It was his family home, yes, but he didn’t really associate good memories with it. His father wasn’t the best human out there, he was selfish and short-tempered and kind of a loose cannon, especially with Elia. It has always been like that and Elia didn’t really know why. They’ve never had a good relationship and Elia was very happy whenever he could go a few weeks without seeing him.

When he opened the door to their apartment, he immediately noticed the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Was his mum really cooking? She hardly ever did because most of the times she was too tired from working as a head secretary of a large company and caring for her three children. Elia and his 15 year-old sister Greta helped her a lot with the household and their little ten year-old sister Alessia - they didn’t really have a choice to be honest other than helping out, but it was okay. Everything was better than living with their father again. As it happened so rarely, it was always a nice surprise when his mum was cooking. Then they would all sit together at their dining table and talk a lot, remaining at the table until their mum sent them all to bed, one by one. These were wonderful evenings, full of laughter and joy and Elia’s heart was filled with warmth at the thought that today was one of these. Until…

— Eli? — Greta rushed out of the kitchen. The expression on her face was torn, as if she couldn’t decide which emotion she was feeling. — Yep, it’s me, sorry for being so late — He pocketed his phone, pushed his shoes from his feet and put them in the corner where all their shoes were piled on top of each other. — Did mamma cook? I’m starving! — Not mamma — Greta said and then, he suddenly understood.

He froze and stared at her. His face was drained of colour in a matter of seconds and his legs felt wobbly. He wasn’t prepared to see his father now. He always needed at least five hugs from his mum and his sisters before he was ready to face him, like hoarding reminders that he was loved, so he could use them as a mental buffer against whatever insult his father threw his way. Today he didn’t have these. And not only that, today he felt weirdly betrayed. He didn’t get any warning beforehand, not even a message either from his mum nor from Greta.

His father appeared in the hall.

— Hello Elia — He said. Unsurprisingly, his voice was just as cold as usual. — Hey papà — He replied and mechanically put his backpack on the floor, not really daring to meet his father’s eyes. — We cooked Coq Au Vin — Greta quickly said — Do you want some? You haven’t eaten yet, have you? — You cooked? — Elia asked, an uncertain smile on his lips. His sister was literally the worst cook in this family. — Nah, papà did the cooking and I did the… cutting vegetables. — That sounds about right. — His voice was still small but he grinned at her for a quick second. — Is Alessia in bed? — Of course she is — His dad replied — Do you know what time it is? It’s past 21:30. Elia just nodded.

Half a minute later, there was a full plate of coq au vin in the microwave and Elia watched it rotating to give his eyes something to focus on. He felt his father’s eyes on him, watching him with piercing eyes that made him all nervous. — Where have you been this long? — He asked. — I, ehm — Elia swallowed, his throat was dry. — I’ve been with friends. We were studying for the exams next week. — Greta said, you’ve been with your Mathematics tutor. Mathematics tutor, nice one, Greta. Elia blinked and swallowed again, thinking about how far off from studying the things were, that he did with Filippo. — Yeah, ehm, one of them tutors me in Maths. — Suddenly, he became all aware of that he was now sitting at the dinner table with his father although less than an hour ago, he had still been kissing Filippo. And before that, they had done way more than just kissing. Suddenly, he felt all dirty. He felt the desperate need for a shower and clean clothes, paranoid that his father would notice something, anything. Because that would end badly. — One of your friends? — His father asked sharply while his panic level rose steadily. — Yes, one of my friends. — Was his hair okay? Wasn’t it all messed up after sex? Did he smell of Filippo? Of another guy’s perfume? Or did he maybe smell extra sweaty? Was his dad sharp enough to notice that? — And your mother trusts you on that? Elia swallows yet again. — Yeah — He then answers — She does. — Until nine o’clock? — He had to work all afternoon. His father nods briefly, his eyebrows raised and Elia wasn’t sure whether he actually believed him or whether he just let this one slide. Greta handed him knife and fork and sat down at the table with them. — Thanks, love — He mumbled and gave her a small smile. The smile, however, was only short-lived. — Do you always make her serve you? — His father asked, his voice unpleasantly ringing in Elia’s ears — Who do you think she is? Your personal maid? Elia froze again. He really couldn’t do anything in his father’s presence without being targeted for the most random thing, when his father decided to harass him. His whole body started shaking and he quickly sat on his hands to at least hide them. — He doesn’t make me serve him! — Greta jumps to his defence. — You stay out of this — Their father snapped at her. — I don’t think she’s my maid — Elia said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm — And I didn’t ask her to give me the cutlery, she just did. — It’s just that I was still standing, so it was kind of natural to hand him knife and fork. We normally split chores — Greta explained, not necessarily intimidated by her father. She probably knew that he would never do anything to her, she just had to be careful so he wouldn’t make him any more angry at Elia. — Eli does all the cooking and I set the table. He does a lot around the flat, papà. The most of all of us. — He does all the cooking? — His father repeated mockingly — Good you’re all still alive then. Elia stared at his feet. This had to be over eventually. — You know, he’s a good cook, papà — Greta said, her voice had a certain edge to it, now . — If he’s such a good cook, how come he doesn’t teach you anything? — Their father continued to rant. He turned to Elia again — Have you actually seen her in the kitchen? She doesn't know shit! Don’t you think it’s your responsibility to help your sisters? — You’re a chef — Elia shouted — Why don’t you teach her? You taught me! — Are you really talking back right now? — His father stood up and leant towards Elia, threateningly. In this moment, the alarm on the microwave went off. Elia looked at it briefly and decided to ignore it, unsure of how his father would react if he left the argument just like that. Of course, this was the wrong thing to do. — What are you waiting for? That someone will go and get it for you? Are you kidding me? Elia’s eyes started to sting when he wordlessly stood up and got his plate out of the microwave. It was really hot to touch but he didn’t care. — May I eat in my room? — He asked quietly, afraid of the answer but he wanted to leave the kitchen so badly that he took the risk. — Does your mother allow you to eat in your room? — His father started once again. Elia just exhaled slowly, tried to blink the tears away and sat back down at the table. — This family is a mess. Does Antonella teach you any manners at all? Or does she just let you do whatever you want to do? You wouldn’t behave this badly if you stayed with me, that’s for sure. Elia just stared at his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore, not at all.

As soon as Elia stored his plate in the dishwasher, his father let him go. It was late anyway and while his dad sat down in front of the TV, Elia and Greta both went into the bathroom to get ready for the night.

When they were out of their father’s sight, Greta turned to Elia, her bad consciousness written all over her face. — I’m so sorry, Eli — She whispered and touched his arms awkwardly, unsure of whether she was allowed to hug him or not. — A heads-up would have been nice — Elia sighed and pulled her close. She immediately put her arms around his waist. — I’m so sorry — She said again, her voice shaky — I thought you wouldn’t come home tonight anyway, and you shouldn’t know papà was here because then you would have come home for sure. — Of course, Greta — He replied — I would never leave you alone with him. — He’s okay when it’s just us — She assured him. — Really. Elia swallowed. He knew she said it to calm him down, to stop him worrying when his sisters were alone with their father but it still stung. He knew, he was a red rag to his dad but he didn’t know why. Anyway, Elia would never be able to forgive himself for not being there to protect his sisters if his father ever insulted or even hit them.

As soon as he said goodbye to a still totally guilt-ridden Greta, he escaped to his bedroom, closed his door and checked his phone. His mum had tried to call him and left several messages.

Mama: (22:06) Elia, sweetheart, I totally forgot to call you. This day is such a mess, I’m so sorry. I had to go on a two-day business trip with my boss because my colleague fell ill and couldn’t go, so I had to jump in. I tried to get your aunt to watch you for the next two days but she couldn’t, so I had to call your father. If it gets too much between the two of you, you can stay at one of your friend’s if their parents are okay with it. It’s only two days. If you need to talk, call me. I love you, mama

He was only a second away from calling her right on the spot, longing for his mother’s comforting words but then he stopped. She was on a business trip and he was not a little child anymore who needed his mommy. Other than that, he would cry as soon as he heard her voice and she would notice and then she would call his father or tell him after the trip and they would fight and his father would only get angrier at him.

So he took a deep breath and closed his mother’s chat. He went back to the other messages, checking who else texted him. His gaze quickly landed on one name.

Filippo: (21:37) can we meet again tomorrow or do you have other plans? Filippo: (21:39) are you home yet?

Filippo. They have talked about what was going on in Elia’s family before and Filippo had been nothing but understanding. He hasn’t been awkward about it, he hasn’t laughed when Elia’s eyes had been shining with tears when he - very briefly - talked about the relationship with his dad. With Filippo, he could talk about things like that, about things he didn’t really want to talk about with any of his friends. With Filippo, though, it didn’t feel weird. With Filippo it was fine.

Elia quickly listened whether his father was still watching TV and then made a silent wish that the volume of the TV was loud enough so that he wouldn’t hear him talking. He took off his clothes, put on a clean t-shirt and laid down in bed. He dialled Filippo’s number and dragged his duvet over his head to block as much noise as possible. — Hey — Filippo’s voice cheered through the phone. Elia couldn’t breathe. It felt as if all the weight was lifted from his shoulders but someone kicked him in the stomach at the same time. — You can’t get enough of me, can you? — Filippo said contently, a smile evident in his voice. — No, I can’t actually — Elia answered. He aimed for joking but his voice was shaking. Filippo was quiet for a second. — Are you okay? — He asked then, as if he wasn’t sure. — My father is here — Elia just said. Filippo understood. — What? Why? — He asked, alarmed, all traces of delight now gone. — My mum had to go on a business trip at short notice. — Okay… Fuck, Elia! Are you okay? — No, don’t worry, I’m okay… physically — He added for the sake of honesty. —  He just made it clear that he doesn’t like me. But I knew that anyway, so… it’s okay. — Oh babe, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to pick you up? You can stay at mine. — Elia thought about it. He thought about the smell of Filippo’s apartment, the smell of the sheets, that were so familiar by now. He thought about Filippo’s bed, about lying in there, next to this gorgeous young man. He thought about cuddles and soft little kisses and comfort... He exhaled shakingly. — I would love to but I shouldn't sneak out. I don’t know how he’s going to react. — His whole body tightened at the thought of that. — I’m not 18, yet, Fili. Filippo swallowed audibly. — Are you safe in there? Elia stayed silent for a while. He was safe for now, yes and he would have to go to school early the next morning. He would try not to attract his father’s attention when they were in the same room, so he should be fine. His father was so angry tonight because Elia had been home late but that was only because Elia didn’t know. Tomorrow he would be smarter than that. — Yes, Fili, please. Don’t worry — I will be more careful. He added silently. Filippo’s voice got angry. — I swear to God, Elia, if he touches you only once, I’ll call the police. — No, Fili — Elia said, his voice wobbly but determined at the same time — You can’t do that. Best-case scenario would be, they come to check, they don’t believe me and my father gets angrier than he has ever been which, believe me, we don’t want that. And worst-case scenario would be that I couldn’t go back to living with my mum. Trust me, I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. So please, don’t tell anyone. He was full-on crying now and his voice became thinner with every word but Filippo understood anyway. — Okay — He quickly said — I would never do anything if you’re not okay with it, Elia. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make it worse. I’m just worried. Elia let out a sob. — I shouldn’t have told you, I’m sorry. — What? — You’re worrying. I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to hang up now, sorry for... Filippo interrupted him. — Of course I’m worrying, when I know you’re with this asshole of a father! But it’s okay, Eli, it’s not your fault. Oh babe...  — Filippo sounded miserable.  — Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to talk about it? — About what? — About what happened after you came home? — I don’t know? Do you want to hear it? Filippo did want to hear about it, so Elia told him everything what has happened and how he was feeling about it. It felt strange to talk about it in so much detail and it felt a bit like he was going through it all over again but even though he was still crying, he felt better afterwards. — I love Greta — He added after a short while. His voice was so quiet that Filippo hardly understood him — I love her with all my heart but sometimes she makes me so angry, just because she can do whatever she wants and it’s fine. When I watch her working in the kitchen, I get so aggressive, that I have to leave. If I would hold a knife the same way she does, my father would probably stab me with it. But with her… it’s okay, because it’s Greta. With me, it’s not okay, because it’s Elia. — He wiped the tears off his face with the back of his hand. — I’m so sorry, Eli — Filippo said softly — He’s a bastard and I hope you know that. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, nobody does but you the least of us all. You’re the most kind-hearted person I know. — Don’t say that — Elia said, half smiling, half sobbing. — I’m really not. — Of course you are! — Filippo insisted, his voice firm now — Look at you. I don’t even know how you do it! If I were you, I would be so bitter because you had to go through so much shit, but you’re not bitter at all. You’re so positive and optimistic and open-minded and funny and lovely and just nice. You help your mother so much at home! You take care of your sisters. You are always there for your friends, always supporting them. — I mostly make fun of them. — Elia interjected, a bit overwhelmed by Filippo’s warm words. — We both know this is your way to show a person how much you like them. Elia froze. He hadn’t known Filippo had picked up on that. There was a pause, Filippo considering his next words. — And you are so perceptive. You immediately know when something is wrong. And you care, so much. You ask what’s wrong and you want to make it better because you can’t stand when another person is feeling bad. Elia hid his face in his pillow. — You make me sound like a saint. Filippo laughed. — I wouldn’t go that far but for me, you’re as close to a saint as it gets. You are so giving. Look how sweet you are with me, Elia. I mean, you do give awesome blow jobs and the sex is always so good but there is so much more to it. I don’t know whether you notice but you constantly ask me how I’m feeling, whether I’m comfortable, whether I need anything - even though I’m your first guy. This is normally the other way around. You just care, you know? And since day one you cook for me whenever I say I’m getting hungry, even though we are always at my apartment. — I was afraid of being intruding at first. — Yeah sure, let me tell you, it’s the absolute worst to have a lovely guy cook for you after sex. Filippo chuckled softly and Elia smiled into his pillow. Elia noticed that at some point during Filippo’s little speech, his heart had actually slowed down a bit. His breathing was more even now than it has been since he walked through the front door earlier tonight. They were silent for a while. — There’s so much I like about you — Filippo whispered at some point. Elia whiped the remaining tears off his face. — There’s a lot I like about you, too — He whispered back. — We’re not talking about me tonight. Today, it’s your turn. — I don’t know whether it’s a good idea to meet tomorrow — Elia abruptly changed the subject because suddenly it felt, as if he couldn’t handle all these emotions inside of him. There was so much hurt, there was hate, but there was warmth and gratitude and love as well. — Okay. Then any other time — Filippo said and it sounded as if he wanted to protest but chose not to. — Whatever you are comfortable with. Elia nodded and drew his legs closer to his chest. — Can we text and call tomorrow? It really helped to talk to you. —  He then asked sheepishly. — Of course. I’ll have my phone on me all the time, okay? And we can talk about whatever you want. We can talk about your dad or your sisters or about anything. Or if you just need to be distracted, you tell me, okay? Elia nodded again, even though he knew that Filippo couldn’t see him. Again, there was silence. — Thank you for being here for me, Fili. For talking me down. — Thank you for being in my life, Elia. — Thank you for being in mine. There was a long pause, the weight of these words slowly sinking in. — Can you tell me about your day? — Elia then asked. Filippo promptly started talking. He talked about photoshoots and weird poses and annoying people and after a while, he actually got a laugh out of Elia.

They talked a bit longer and when Elia began to drift off, Filippo continued talking about the most random things he just happened to come up with. He stayed on the line until he was certain, Elia was asleep. Only then he dared to hang up.

Filippo (00:12): thank you for calling me Filippo (00:12): thank you for trusting me with this Filippo (00:12): you’re the strongest person I know Filippo (00:16): and I mean it when I say, I’m glad that you’re a part of my life now

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Hate Rhaegar Targaryen? Here's why you're wrong.

Re: “Fuck Rhaegar Targaryen”: A lesson on how to read between the lines in fiction to learn the truth.

On George R. R. Martin:

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.”

On Elia Martell: Considering GRRM's self-described gardening style, Dorne and its culture were almost certainly built around Elia Martell. Rhaegar's wife was polyamorous, and the author needed a way to tell us that, thus the culture of Dorne was given this attribute.

Further, while Rhaegar crowning Lyanna queen of love and beauty is known as the moment all the smiles died - it's emphasized that “Elia’s reaction to the event remains unknown” ...Well isn’t that convenient?

On House Martell: Do even the Martells blame the Targaryens for what happened to Elia and her children? Here’s what it says in the wiki:

“During the Sack of King's Landing, Ser Gregor Clegane raped and murdered Elia and also killed her son, Prince Aegon Targaryen. Another Lannister knight, Ser Amory Lorch killed her daughter, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. After hearing of these deaths, Oberyn attempted to raise Dorne for the exiled Prince Viserys Targaryen.

Oberyn and his brother Doran worked in secret for years planning on bringing an end to the reign of King Robert I Baratheon and destroying House Lannister. Oberyn traveled to Braavos, where Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen were living with Ser Willem Darry. Oberyn and Willem signed a secret marriage pact, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness, promising Viserys the hand of Princess Arianne Martell in marriage, in return for Dorne's help in reclaiming the Iron Throne from House Baratheon.”

If Rhaegar was solely responsible for Elia’s death, why would Oberyn work to align Dorne with the Targaryens once again, to put them back in power? Because he only wants revenge on the guilty parties: Lannister and Clegane.

On Aegon and his sister wives: Aegon had two wives. A first wife married out of duty, and a second wife married out of desire. Sound familiar? Good. It's supposed to. GRRM uses historical parallels like this as hints all the time, and Rhaegar’s obsession with the three heads of the dragon and naming his children after these historical relatives is a way to link them in our minds.

The fact that Rhaegar likely believed he needed three children to fulfill a prophecy - Aegon, Rhaenys and presumably Visenya... is also a hint that Elia, who could not bear him a third child, might've even encouraged Rhaegar to take another wife.

Sound absurd? Rhaegar tells his wife, as she holds his newborn son, that there must be one more, as is seen in Daenerys' vision in the House of the Undying:

“There must be one more. The dragon has three heads.”

                    "History is written by the victors."

On Robert Baratheon: Virtually everyone had a good opinion of Rhaegar expect for Robert Baratheon. The victor. This man harbored a negative opinion of the prince based on jealousy and a personal vendetta.

Ned says to Robert:

“You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert. You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath.”

Think Lyanna is just some silly trollop? Try again. The woman who would run away with an already-married man had this to say about Robert:

“Robert will never keep to one bed. I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale. Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.”

Again, Rhaegar and Robert seem to be complete opposites in every way. So if Robert is the type to whore around on his wife, perhaps that's yet another hint that Rhaegar didn't, wouldn't, and wasn't. Rhaegar's reputation as a villain stems from this man alone, Robert Baratheon, who was not a good person.

Even on the show, Bran confirms that the Rebellion was built on a lie - so, why do so many opt to believe Robert Baratheon, a terrible king, husband, father and person - over three of the noblest men in the series - Barristan Selmy, Ned Stark, and Arthur Dayne?

On Rhaegar Targaryen: Arthur Dayne, one of the most chivalrous and noble knights, was Rhaegar's oldest friend.

Ned Stark never once has a negative thought about Rhaegar, even letting us know that he didn’t think Rhaegar the type of man to cheat on his wife:

“For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.”

Even Jorah understands who Rhaegar was, time and again telling Daenerys how different her brother Viserys is to Rhaegar, that Rhaegar was the last dragon and Viserys is “less than the shadow of a snake”. (...and I really should not have to recount why Viserys is a terrible person. That shit ain’t subtle at all.)

When Daenerys saves the life of a lamb girl, she says:

“I will not have her harmed. I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”

She and Jorah then have this exchange:

“You are your brother's sister, in truth.” “Viserys?” “No. Rhaegar.”

Lastly, Barristan Selmy, who watched Rhaegar grow up, has this to say:

“Even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father's son, in ways that Rhaegar never did.”

So we've got two people now, telling us Rhaegar and Viserys were different. Viserys is directly compared to Aerys, whereas Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar after she saves someone's life and helps them.

When Daenerys asks Barristan whether there was any good to be said of her father, he replies:

“There is, your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

Barristan also confirms Rhaegar’s feelings toward Elia:

“Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”

On the show, Barristan tells Daenerys of Rhaegar's character. Confirming that Rhaegar found joy in singing, not killing. Recounting tales about how Rhaegar would sing to the common folk, giving his money away to them, to orphanages, or taking his lifelong friend and guard out for drinks.

On who is actually to blame for Elia's death:

Aerys Targaryen, Tywin Lannister & Gregor Clegane (Duh)

It's not Rhaegar’s fault for neglecting to assume a lifelong House Targaryen ally would betray him and his family. If you think this, you are victim blaming.

(Victim blaming occurs when the victim of a crime or any wrongful act is held entirely or partially responsible for the harm that befell them.)

Tywin waited until he knew which side would win the Rebellion before picking either. Fuck, Tywin wasn't even certain he'd betray the Targaryens!

Was Rhaegar aware of all the ways his father offended Tywin Lannister? Oh, absolutely. Which is part of the reason he was almost certainly conspiring to de-throne his father, for offending the entire damned realm left and right!

“When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but... well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken.”

Jaime tells us that it was not Rhaegar who forbade Elia’s escape, but Aerys:

“Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side.”

Jaime feels immense guilt that lingers for not protecting Rhaegar's family. He blames himself, not the prince, even defending himself to the ghost of Rhaegar, who tells him:

“I left my wife and children in your hands.” “I never thought he'd hurt them. I was with the king...”

Even Jaime Lannister never thought the children would be hurt. Tywin’s fucking son. You'd have to be pretty daft, at this point, if you think Rhaegar is the one responsible for the murder of his children. Further, note that Jaime’s internal characterization of Rhaegar cares about his wife, Elia, and their children.

On Jon Snow: Love Jon Snow but hate Rhaegar Targaryen? Too bad. Boy was written to be just like his daddy, and no, I don’t mean Ned.

Like his father, he was “born in grief” and is described as sullen, and his father, melancholy. They've got similar lean builds, dark-hued eyes, both observant and good fighters, described as noble, honorable and good (and ‘comely’). Even the way Jon died echoes Rhaegar’s death:

“Jon fell to his knees. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. 'Ghost,' he whispered.”

“Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name...”

Lastly, in the show, when Jon meets Daenerys, she says, “We all enjoy what we’re good at” and Jon replies, “I don’t.”

Just like Rhaegar. Because, after all, Barristan told Daenerys that Rhaegar “never liked killing”. Jon Snow is his father’s son.

To any Rhaegar Targaryen haters out there who managed to pick up on literally zero of the above clues - You badly need to work on your deductive reasoning skills.

Also, please never write a book.

[sanjuno]

That's ok! How about the MCU, or just the Avengers if the MCU is too broad. -Lark

(Oh shit, I have opinions about the MCU and the Avengers, my friend. So I apologize if this offends but not really.)

6/7 GoT Crossover Fix-Its: An Assemblage of Fire and Ice.

Anthony Edward Stark’s life was a battle from beginning to end. He fought the world, he fought people who claimed to be his friends, he fought honest enemies, and he fought every challenge life and the universe at large threw at him as he went. He fought the Ten Rings and became Iron Man, he fought public opinion and became a hero, he fought obstinance and fear and became a man who stood for accountability. He fought Thanos, and became the man known for mastering the Infinity Stones. When Tony Stark finally died in a blaze of glory more than 20 years after Iron Man first burned his way free of a cave in the desert, he left behind a legacy that would last for ages.

Eddard Stark is born bright red and squalling in the middle of a snowstorm where the sun shone through the clouds to birth lightning. The contradictions only continued as the boy grew, Ned Stark was a calm, thoughtful child but was occasionally taken by wild frenzies. One moment reading peacefully, or training seriously in arms, the next shouting at the top of his lungs and running off to the forge to make a new type of steel, or designing an aqueduct system that wouldn’t freeze. Rickon Stark took to sighing whenever Ned’s voice started to echo. Lyarra Stark laughed, and told her husband their second son had Ice in his veins and Fire in his heart.

Tony was actually rather pleased with this version of the Stark family. Sure, sometimes Brandon was a bit too much like Morgan for comfort, and sometimes Lyanna reminded Tony of himself during the worst moments during his rebellious teen phase, but the Starks were all loyal to one another and Tony had 200 years of people managing skills. Nudging Brandon to be a bit more responsible, to respect the women he took to bed, that wasn’t hard. Coaching Lyanna on how to protect her own interests, showing his little sister how to compromise for a result everyone could live with, that was simple enough. Tony was used to corralling teenage (and adult) superheroes, asking a few honourable nobles to think about things rationally wasn’t exceptionally difficult. Ben was the easy one. Mostly Tony just had to talk him down from the extreme choice, and the youngest was usually pretty reasonable about listening to a logical argument.

In one version of the song Lyarra Stark dies birthing her third son, in this world young Ned has been asking questions of the Maester, the herbalists, the midwives, and anyone else with an ounce of teaching in the healing arts how things work, why things work, and what do you do when it doesn’t work. So the healers of Winterfell have been pushed and prodded and challenged to raise themselves up and their skills reflect that. Lyarra will never have another child, but she lives. She is weak, and bedridden for moons, but she lives. So Rickon Stark’s ambitions are gentled, and his children’s happiness has a greater sway over his thoughts.

Tony is pleased and so, so grateful that his mother survived. The leading cause of death for women in pre-industrial societies is childbirth, and Tony was never the kind of doctor who could heal. Fix and augment, yes, but surgery and birth complications were out of his league. Thankfully he already knew what questions to ask in order to get the healers in Winterfell thinking and making improvements on their skills. All the women in the North would benefit, and eventually the new studies and knowledge would spread further than just the Northern Kingdom.

The Stark children are fostered out, of course. Still themselves but still slightly different. Ned and Robert make fast friends, but the Quiet Wolf is not the retiring second son he was in the first version of the song. When Mya Stone is born Ned shames Robert into taking proper responsibility. Robert’s daughter and the girl’s mother are dowered and set up to be able to live comfortably, and Robert is given a scathing lecture on consent and respect. “You don’t have to abstain,” Ned says, “but if a child results from it you need to step up and be their father.” So Robert, being Robert and thus allergic to responsibility, starts carrying a pouch of Moon Tea in his purse.

The Tourney at Harennhal happens, and Lyanna once again saves Howland Reed. Once again, the Knight of the Laughing Tree bids the unruly Squires to learn respect. Once again, the Mad King sees assassins everywhere and the Silver Prince comes across a young Lady in the Godswood. Only it’s different as well, because none of the Stark children are betrothed. Rickon Stark made the announcement when his Heir turned 16 that his sons would seek their own spouses for his approval when they came of age, and any who wished to court his daughter could submit their suit for approval when Lyanna’s own 16th age day came. So Lyanna is not desperate to escape an unwanted betrothal, and there is nothing gentling the public dishonour of Rhaegar’s attentions when he wins the joust. There is nothing romantic about a grown man betraying his wife for a girl not yet of age.

Tony wants to rage, wants to kill the Prince very, very badly when he sees how scared his little sister is. When the crown of blue roses lands in her lap, Lyanna Stark does what she’s always done when she doesn’t understand something. She turns to her middle brother and begs him to fix things. Tony knows exactly where this is going, if the Prince thinks he can bully his way through all the moral arguments saying his attention is unwanted. So Tony holds out his hand to Lyanna, and she brightens, putting the flower crown in his hands, and Tony promptly puts it on his own head. He meets the Prince’s eyes, and lets Rhaegar Targaryen see the Merchant of Death usually hidden behind the public persona of the Quiet Wolf. The Prince does not get to coerce Tony’s baby sister into any sort of relationship against her will.

Just as the Prince publicly shamed his wife, the girl he chose shames him in turn. Ellia and Aerys are, for the first time ever, amused by the same thing. Ned Stark wears the Crown of Love and Beauty for the rest of the Tourney. It gets him many, many dances from the Ladies in attendance during the feasts. Rhaegar, for all he was trying to quietly gather support to supplant his father, realizes somewhat belatedly that he just screwed himself out of support from Dorne and the North. The Northern camp closes ranks, especially around the women. From Lyanna Stark down to the common maids, none of the Northern women go anywhere without an escort.

Jaime Lannister still joins the Kingsguard, Cersei’s scheming fuelled by the proof that Rhaegar is loosing interest in his wife now that Elia is known to be barren. The younger son of a Dornish Lordship, Jaime Fowler, has blood from the Summer Islands and finds Ned Stark with the comment that he “must be made of Iron to mock the Prince this way.” And Tony replies with “it’s gold-titanium alloy, actually.” Rhodey just shakes his head, happy to have found his best friend again. Lysa Tully, who had overheard, tells them “I’ve caught you doing worse. Will this be all, Mr. Stark?” Pepper was just so very done with these shenanigans. The things Tony drags them into, honestly.

When the Tourney ends, Ned Stark goes to take over Moat Cailin, which he has been granted permission to restore. Accompanying him is his betrothed, Lysa Tully, and a Dornishman who is rumoured to share their bed. The South (minus Dorne) is scandalized. The North, well used to the Quiet Wolf’s particularities, just shrugs and moves on.

Rhaegar Targaryen is a man obsessed by prophecy, and few realize that he is just as mad as his father. Rhaegar is mad in the quiet, subtle way men go mad when they are left alone for too long with only their own thoughts for company. Lyanna Stark amuses King Aerys, and when the Pact of Ice and Fire is brought up he sees it as a perfect way to torment Rhaegar for overstepping, slight Elia for not being a real Targaryen, and punish Lyanna for thinking that she can refuse a dragon. Aerys announces that Rhaegar will take a second wife that is capable of bearing children, and that he has selected Lyanna Stark for the role.

There is not a single Great House in Westros who are not being insulted by this move. Lyanna is terrified, because she had grown up expecting to be courted by her future husband and even then not until she was 16. Lyanna, in this version of the song, was supposed to have a say in her choice of husband. Her wolf blood is howling, wanting nothing more than to rip and tear and devour. Once again, it’s Ned who steps in to fix things. It’s Ned, drawing on Tony’s many years of experience who talks her down from running away. It’s Ned, aching over the sacrifice his sister is being asked to make, who reminds her that their people will suffer if Lyanna makes a choice that will lead to war. It’s Ned, standing alone with his sister in the Wolfwood, who speaks quietly about allies, and secret wars, and that Elia’s brother is the Red Viper. Aegon was all but guaranteed to be free of Targaryen madness, given that he was only half. 16 years was not so long to wait for vengeance. 

A Second Hour of the Wolf was now Lyanna Stark’s goal. (Not Targaryen. Never Targaryen. She would only ever be a Stark in her heart.) The Stark siblings spend the night a seething Rickon sends his formally, frigidly polite acceptance of the betrothal to the Red Keep in the Godswood, praying to the Old Gods for a sign. (Tony still doesn’t like magic, but he’s old enough to know it exists. There’s no other explanation for how Extremis still lights up his skin in Arc Reactor blue when things get tough.) They leave the Godswood with a pack of Direwolves loping at their sides. A pack, because while Brandon, Lyanna, and Ben each have a single wolf, Ned has 7. Also they beg Ned to let his wife name their children because by the Old Gods, Ned is bad at choosing names for things.

Tony ignores them. He has his babies back. Dummy, You, and Butterfingers are as playful as ever. Jarvis is even more long-suffering, Friday is mischievous, Jocasta is sassy, and Ultron, his poor wayward son, is free of the corruption in his programming caused by the Sceptre. The warg thing is a bit of a surprise, because his siblings can all do it without the assistance of Extremis, but Tony rolls with it and teaches them what he knows about communicating mind to mind. Greensight is like a wireless connection, which took a while to figure out. Tony is so relived to be able to share his secrets with his siblings at last. For the first time, Tony lets his siblings watch him work in the forge, and their eyes are very wide as the blue-and-gold glow shines under his skin and sparks in the runes carved into the armour plate and blades he forges for each of them.

“Magic is terrifying,” Ned tells his siblings, “and I never wanted you to fear me. But you all have magic of your own, and you need to learn how to use it. If things are waking up, if the Targaryens want the North in truth instead of just in name, then we need to be ready.” So Ned shows them how to work the runes, how to connect to their wolves and to the other animals around them, how the send their Greensight through the trees. They only have a year, because Rickon was only able to negotiate a delay until Lyanna turned 16, hoping that the Mad King would change his mind in the interim. Unfortunately, the raven demanding Lyanna come to King’s Landing for her wedding to Rhaegar comes within a moon of her 16th nameday.

Rickon and Lyarra Stark remain in the Northin subtle protest, but all their children go South. The smallfolk gathered along the streets in King’s Landing hoping to see the heathen wildling Princess from the savage North do not dare jeer. The Starks ride atop the backs of massive wolves, each one as large as a horse. Their armour gleams like ice in the light, and their fur mantels make them look natural among the wild beasts they command. The eyes of the welcoming party in the Red Keep are very wide, and Rhaegar looks like he’s regretting all his life choices.

Lyanna Stark’s smile is a snarl, teeth bared and sharp as blizzard winds. She all but ignores Rhaegar entirely and instead puts considerable effort into charming Elia. (Tony had long suspected that his sister preferred her own gender over men, and thankfully Elia was Dornish enough to be flattered by the attention. The fact that it irritated Rhaegar to see his wives seek out each other instead of him was just extra entertainment.)

Thanks to greensight and warging, the Starks all remain in close contact that no one else knows about. Benjen moves further North when he comes of age and takes over both Gifts with the intention of supporting the Watch. He doesn’t join them, because he feels the need to pass on the Stark Magic that’s in his blood and that requires a wife, but he still serves the Wall in his own best way. Brandon takes on his duties as the Heir to Winferfell, travelling around the North to meet all their Bannerman. Ned rebuilds Moat Cailin even grander than before, and moves on to restructuring the trade routes and methods in the North. Lyanna drives Rhaegar insane with passive aggressive undermining of his schemes. Luckily, Aerys is entertained by Lyanna enough to be distracted from his usual pastimes.

Following Ned’s advice, Lyanna goes to Rhaegar every night for a fortnight one week after her moonblood comes, and is pleased a moon later when the Maester tells her she’s pregnant. (”Treat him as he thinks to treat you.” Ned had said. “He thinks to make you a broodmare for his seed? Nay, instead let him be the stud you use to get your own children, sweet sister, and go to him only when you wish to make use of that service.”) Lyanna is quite pleased to be able to tell Rhaegar that he’s served his purpose for now and she has no more use for him until after the babe is weaned. So she’ll call for him again in about two years. (Elia loves her sister-wife, you have no godly idea how much Elia loves her sister-wife.)

Brandon Stark marries Ashara Dayne, and even if she’s not of the North the Bannerman are content with her having the Blood of the First Men in her veins. Benjen Stark manages to seduce a Wildling Chieftess into marriage on a trip North of the Wall and her tribe agrees to serve him in return for being allowed to settle South of the Wall. Ned Stark has a brood of children with his red-haired Tully wife, and if it takes a bit of magic to ensure that they all have Stark grey eyes and Summer darkened skin that’s no one’s business but their own. Lyanna has her first son in pace with Lysa’s first son and the realm celebrates the birth of the second dragon prince. Rhaegar gives his very, very Stark son a Targaryen name, and Lyanna promptly starts to call the boy Jon just to spite him. Aerys is not pleased that Jon is so very Northern, and goes back to burning people alive in his throne room.

Lyanna is appalled, notices that no one is going to do anything to stop what’s happening, and proceeds to consult with her brothers. Ned’s husband is sent to visit family in Dorne and stops in King’s Landing to visit Lyanna on his way back. No one notices the wicker basket among the many gifts Jaime Fowler brought for the Northern Princess. No one notices the Princess’ eyes go all-over white as she sits in her bedchambers, alone for but her infant son as a King Cobra slithers through the Keep to leave two more punctures among Aerys’ many scabs. No one notices the tradesman from the Northern Marshes on his way to Dorne collect a sealed wicker basket from a maidservant before setting out to see with the tide before sunrise.

Everyone notices when the King is found stone dead in his own bedchambers, having died during a fit in his sleep. Rhaegar is crowned King, Elia and Lyanna being crowned with him. Lyanna loves her wife, even she’d rather drop her husband down a well. Still, Elia is an Andal, and it’s the Blood of the First Men that gives the Stark their magic. Jon is taught the secrets of his birthright by his mother while they sit together in the Godswood, joined in time by Aemon and Visenya. When Jon is nearing 16, Lyanna’s wolf disappears for a few moons, only to return heavy with pups. The Starks living in the Red Keep all have direwolves now, and Rhaegar is oblivious to the fact that none of his children think of themselves as Targaryens. That’s what happens when you ignore your children in favour of self-fulfilling prophecies.

Benjen has slowly been converting the Wildlings to the aggressively peaceful coexistence the Northern Lords and the Hill Clans favour. Then comes the time he starts to hear of the dead walking again to kill the living, and the Wildlings are suddenly afire to accept Benjen and Vals terms. The Gifts are soon full up, and the Castles along the Wall are being repaired and manned by volunteers from among the Free Men, and several Tribes are being sent further South to various Hill Clans to be settled in, and yet more are taking over long abandoned settlements to build them back up. Benjen scrambles to keep up, to keep his siblings informed, and he’s so, so grateful that Brandon and Ned are there to help disperse in massive influx of people around the Northern Kingdom. Thankfully Ned’s trade structures have grown enough that there was a demand for workers, and there’s wealth and space enough to go around.

Benjen is set upon by a White Walker, and his skin glows blue-and-gold in his desperation to survive. Benjen burns the way his older brother once showed him, in Extremis, and he survives to pass the warning on. The Others are coming, and the dead are marching on the Wall.

The Starks prepare for a war against the Long Night.

/…/

Tyrion Lannister is born a dwarf, but thanks to new knowledge passed down from the North his mother survives the birth. He was a very intelligent child, but had the unfortunate tendency to pick fights he had no chance of winning over the smallest of slights. Joanna despaired of him ever learning his limits, and despite Tywin’s best efforts to temper Tyrion’s foolishness the boy inevitably ends up picking the wrong fight and dying for it. Steve Rogers is always born to a physical disadvantage in hopes that he will eventually learn to compromise. A dwarf body is stunted, but he was healthy and clear headed. He could make something of his life if only he tried. Steve Rogers still needed to learn to reign in his impulses and keep unwanted opinions to himself. Not every argument needed to be settled with fists.

Margary Tyrell was much like her grandmother, and was likely to be the new Queen of Thorns when Oleanna finally passed away. Natasha Romanova enjoyed the simplicity of a new life where she didn’t need to kill anyone for a living. Still, she kept a wary eye on the Starks. They were advancing at a rate that was familiar to her, and the last thing she wanted was to be on Tony’s bad side again.

Denys Arryn was the darling of the Vale, but what few people knew was that his preferred weapon was the bow. Despite being from a poor house, he remained humble and courteous to all. Clint Barton regret nothing as much as he regret leaving Laura and his children to fight Stark over a stupid piece of paper. This time around he was committed to staying with his wife and raising their kids without any stupid running off. Seeing the Stark with Tony’s too-sharp smirk running around the Ayrie for a few years only cemented that decision in his mind.

Stannis Baratheon was a humourless boy, too smart and too serious by half. Although his anger, when roused, was mighty enough to tear down stone walls. Robert learned not to upset his younger brother the day he tormented Proudwing, and Stannis beat his elder brother bloody for harming the bird. Bruce Banner was resigned to the legacy of warning people “you won’t like me when I’m angry.” But really, Ours Is The Fury was just a bit too on the nose for him to be amused by it.

/…/

Rhaegar Targaryen felt very foolish indeed as he stared at his little sister. “You what?”

“… I hatched the dragon eggs you got me for my nameday.” Daenerys looked a little sheepish. “Lyanna and Elia helped me figure out how.”

The Dragon has Three Heads. Rhaegar felt faint as he stared down at the three squalling hatchlings cradled in his baby sister’s arms. His wives were laughing at him, he knew they were. Dragon’s had no gender, a Prince who was Promised could just as easily be a Princess, and sometimes a dragon is just a dragon.

“By the way, husband.” Lyanna mentioned idly from where she stood with a snickering Elia. “My brother Benjen tells me the Night King is awake again. The North is getting ready for a Long Winter, and to fight back the Others. You might want to start preparing the rest of the Kingdoms for that.”

Stiffly, Rhaegar turned his head to stare at his Winter Queen. “… What.”

And so the Prophecy of Fire and Ice is proven true.

[fantasiawandering]

In the fallen universe have the turtles adopted April as their sister before they meet Casey? Do they tease her about her “boyfriend” or threaten him against hurting their sister? Poor Donnie would have had April to himself for a whole year at that point lol btw do you like April with Donnie or Casey

Yup. Falling is written to fill in gaps within and between episodes, so it follows pretty close to canon for the first two seasons. I have a feeling if I ever come back to Seasons 4 and 5, I may start straying a little more, but they go through an entire season pre-Casey, and she’s pretty firmly family by that point.

If they ever actually start dating, I imagine there’s going to be something pretty close to that scene in TMNT 2003, but never really seriously, because at this point, Casey’s family, too.

(Honestly, I think the one he really has to watch out for eventually re: not hurting April’s feelings is Karai, but that’s literally another story. Because I reject vehemently the idea that if you introduce a second girl into the main cast, she and girl 1 have to be rivals, and I am all about supportive lady kunoichi bffs eventually being a thing).

As to part 2.... better put that under a cut. :D

I’m honestly ambivalent wrt shipping, and if they’d gone into the series “Donnie and April are boyfriend and girlfriend, hurray!” I would have written that. But I’m not really interested in writing ships; I’m more interested in just writing April. 

That said, it’s in my head that Falling April eventually ends up with Casey, partly because of all the other TMNT media I’ve been consuming since I was a wee Fantasia (and Falling Casey totally grows up into Elias Koteas), partly because Shadow Jones needs to be a thing, and April as Shadow Jones’ mom, and the boys as her uncles needs to be a thing, and partly because one of the things that REALLY stuck with me from the TMNT comics was that issue where they found the mer-people who’d been poisoned by the nuclear plant. They touched on it a bit in the 2003 series, but in the comics April has this moment of shocked realization that, like the mer-people who’d just lost the last female of their species, her boys were the only ones of their kind, and it made her love them even more, because dammit, she was going to make sure those boys never wanted for love. 

And honestly, I like it best when April is equally close to all the turtles. The relationships are different, but none of them is significantly more important than the others. She’s their conduit to the human world, and their constant reminder of why they want to protect it (and that list of reminders grows as their found family does, but she’s always, always going to be their April). And even if she’s more their sister than their mom in this incarnation, I wanted to keep the spirit of that bond going in Falling because it’s the thing about TMNT I have liked best for more than 30 years, and it just doesn’t resonate the same way for me if April and Donnie are a couple. 

The other big reason I have for keeping Donnie and April friends is that when I started writing Falling, the series was still pretty much coming down on the crush as being one-sided on Donnie’s part, and I was actually okay with that. This is not to invalidate people who ship them in any way, more power to them, I support you shippers, find your joy, but it’s just not my jam, for a few really personal reasons in addition to those mentioned above. I went through some really uncomfortable breakups because I kept waiting for those feelings to develop, and they never did. The last relationship I had was with a really genuinely amazing guy, who was kind, and considerate, and funny, and we got along so well. On paper, we were a perfect match. And I just wasn’t in love with him. I wished I was. So badly. We gave it over a year, but figured at that point, it just wasn’t going to happen, because romantic feelings aren’t something you can force, no matter how much you want it. And it was important to me to write a story in which sometimes, no, that chemistry just doesn’t happen no matter how nice the guy is and how much the girl wishes it would, and that’s okay, and the relationship they develop in its place is just as precious and unique.. 

I’ve done romances a lot in my early writing, and while I have nothing against them per se, they’re not a requirement in my writing nowadays. I’ll put them in if something organically develops between the characters, but at this particular point in my life, I’m more interested in exploring other kinds of relationships. Particularly found family and soulmates without romance. Which is kind of why Pacific Turtles goes the way it does. April is romantically and physically attracted to Casey, but drift compatible with Donnie. April had pretty much given up on the idea of romance because she didn’t think she’d find anyone who’d be able to accept that Donnie is her best friend and the most important person in her life. But Casey gets it, because of his drift with Raph, And because of that, he genuinely likes Donnie. And the drift has a way of cutting through the drama and showing everybody exactly how they feel. And that all of those feelings are valid, good, and important, and ultimately make you happy, even if it wasn’t the outcome you were expecting when you set out..

[masha-russia]

Please know that fans of elia or Brandon have no problem with rhaegar and lyanna being in love and getting a happy ending. Problem only arose when those 2 chose to pursue their happily ever after at the expanse of elia, his children by her, Brandon, Rickard and basically the whole realm. Lyanna is supposedly so moral a person that she can't see howland being bullied yet she doesn't bother coming back an telling everyone that she wasn't kidnapped but consented? This makes no sense.

Hi, thanks for asking,

Before talking about Rhaegar and Lyanna, I’d like to start with Brandon. Brandon Stark has fans? … In this case, I feel like these people don’t know that Brandon Stark was one of the creepiest men in the story. I realize that many may have forgotten, or not truly comprehended, the part of Dance with Dragons that showed us Brandon’s personality, since it was a small part in a Theon chapter. Brandon Stark was a sexual predator. Apart from killing people, which is already bad enough, his other favorite pass time was to sleep with virgins, specifically virgins, because he loved the sight of blood on “his sword” -> "a bloody sword is a beautiful thing”. I know the text is subtle here, but that’s the meaning. And no, Barbery Dustin wasn’t lying. Also, GRRM words: “It’d be an exaggeration to say that Brandon died before he could have children” which translates to “he had plenty of bastards”.

“Brandon loved his sword. He loved to hone it. ‘I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman’s cunt,’ he used to say. And how he loved to use it. 'A bloody sword is a beautiful thing,’ he told me once.”

“Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes.”

Brandon Stark was gross. His caring for his sister and father makes him a three dimensional character, but not any less of a creep (edit: and not because of his relation with Barbery which was consensual) I am glad he died, and I have to say, House Stark was lucky he did, because if Brandon became Lord of Winterfell, the reputation of the House wouldn’t be at all as good as it was under Eddard’s rule.

Alright now, you say you have no problem with Rhaegar and Lyanna being in love, only that it happened “at the expanse of Elia and the children”. If you refer to the moral aspect and to the idea that Rhaegar “cheated” on her, I don’t understand what alternatives would satisfy you? Rhaegar was made to marry Elia, it was an arranged marriage, and Lyanna was being forced to marry a man she absolutely did not want. Divorce isn’t an option in Westeros (though judging by the outraged reactions among Elia fans following the news of show Rhaegar divorcing Elia, divorce doesn’t seem to be an option for you either), polygamy isn’t allowed, the only way for Rhaegar and Lyanna to be together is as a non-married couple, sadly. Again, I think Elia was in friendly terms with her husband and supported him. And Rhaegar’s children don’t have a say in his love life. As long as the children are cared and provided for, he did his duty as a parent. As you know, Rhaegar was greatly concerned about the War for the Dawn, and he believed Rhaenys and Aegon would have a role in it, so obviously he would have returned with Lyanna and their child to raise all of his three children together. 

If you refer to their deaths, I already explained several times that you cannot blame Rhaegar and Lyanna for the murders of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon. They didn’t commit the murder. The responsibility lies with Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch (the actual murderers), with Tywin Lannister (for giving the order), with Robert Baratheon (for wanting to kill all the “dragon’s pawn”) and to an extent with Aerys Targaryen (for refusing to send Elia and the children with Rhaella and Viserys to Dragonstone). Same for Brandon and Rickard. Rhaegar and Lyanna couldn’t have known what would happen, and they certainly didn’t wish for such horrors like the murder of Elia and the children.

Please do not believe that Kingdoms rise in rebellion over highborn girls who elope with noble Princes. “Such stories make for charming songs, but poor history”. Jon Arryn didn’t call his banners because of Lyanna, and not even because of Brandon’ and Rickard’ executions (Aerys was in the right by law to execute them, for threatening a Royal with murder, even though he did it cruelly). He rose in Rebellion when Aerys asked him to kill the innocent (by law) young men he was fostering. Thousands of people won’t go to fight and die in a war for the sake of a girl. Betrothals can be set aside.

“This makes no sense,” you say, not understanding why Lyanna and Rhaegar didn’t inform anyone of their eloping, and accusing them of idiocy and selfishness, or the story of being inconsistent. It is not the story or the characters being inconsistent though, it’s the text screaming at you that there is something wrong with the informations it gave you thus far, and that there are missing pieces of the puzzle. I think it’s evident from the novels themselves, but even GRRM is always elusive when answering any questions about Rhaegar and Lyanna and their actions. Just from one interview:

“Will we learn more about Rhaegar in the next book? Why did he take almost a year to join the fight against the rebels, or why did he kidnap Lyanna?”“You will learn more, but I can’t promise it’ll be in the next book. Keep reading.”

Rhaegar took a year to join the fight because he did not know there was War, and I believe someone was doing his best to keep him ignorant. This someone could very well be Varys - he is a Blackfyre supporter, his wisperings in Aerys’ ear was what made him even more paranoiac and cruel, he was the one responsible for Aerys’s coming to the Tourney at Harrenhal, where it is rumored Rhaegar planned to dispose him as King. If Varys really cared “for the Realm” (he does not), he would have helped Rhaegar, but instead he helped Aerys to keep the Throne while making sure his paranoia and madness grew.

Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent’s tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there.

As for not telling anyone of their eloping, again I believe they did tell someone. I strongly suspect Lyanna told Eddard that she fell in love with Rhaegar and that she would run away with him, but Eddard didn’t have the courage to let his father and Robert know. Other people must have been told as well, but again something went awry.

Once Rhaegar joined the war, it was too late to sue for peace. The leader of the Rebellion, Robert Baratheon, declared Rhaegar his number one enemy, so I can hardly see Rhaegar making peace with him. The Kingdoms were fighting, divided between Targaryen loyalists and Robert Baratheon supporters. It’s just not realistic at all to believe Rhaegar could have raised a white flag. Killing Robert would have put an end to the Rebellion, just as killing Rhaegar brought an end to the fighting at the Trident. Rhaegar and Robert were the faces of the War. 

I very much doubt Rhaegar wanted to kill Eddard. It is possible that he gave orders to spare Eddard, for Lyanna.

This is funny. Ok as I said already Rhaegar didn’t know of the war, but … Basically the whole Realm from Dorne to Casterly Rock passing by the North fangirls about Rhaegar, how noble and gifted he was, that he was a true dragon, that he would have been a great King. How exactly did you reach the conclusion that “Canon paints him more as a coward”?

Even Yandel (Yandel!!), who wrote a very biased book (The World of ice and Fire) as he was trying to please King Robert Baratheon, said:

 For despite his crimes, Prince Rhaegar was no coward.

Even he, not a lickspittle exactly but a man who wanted to be in Robert’s good graces, couldn’t bring himself to talk badly of Rhaegar.

I’d gladly come back to this conversation once we get the other two books.

[tinylilemrys]

The Gift of Choice (1/4)

Read it on AO3

Rating: T || Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Summary: Neither Alec nor Magnus is particularly thrilled at the discovery of their soul marks. Alec because he knows that the design of it means that his soulmate is a Downworlder, something practically unheard of in Shadowhunter society. For Magnus, the idea of being permanently attached to a joyless demon-killer is hardly a thrill. Given that they can choose if they accept their soulmate or not, the decision seems like a no-brainer.

But when Alec finally meets the beautiful, other-worldly Magnus and Magnus meets the gorgeous, self-sacrificing Alec, it becomes clear that the decision might not be as easy as they thought it would be.

CHAPTERS: TWO || THREE

CHAPTER ONE

Alec is sixteen when the mark first appears.

Though he instantly recognises it as a Destiny rune, unlike the bold sweeps of his Shadowhunter marks, this one is fine and delicate: a faint white network of lightning bolts just above his right knee. Though he has never seen anything like it, he knows what it might be and that it’s definitely not a good thing. That it’s not right. That it’s dangerous.

He keeps it covered and resolves to tell no one. He couldn’t bear it if his parents looked at him differently. Isabelle might understand, but she’s young and idealistic and inclined to believe that everything happens for some big beautiful romantic reason. She won’t understand that this is a cause for alarm and discretion and secrecy.

And Jace…

Jace will never know about it.

***

The appearance of the mark on Magnus’ thigh, just above his left knee, is the single most interesting thing that has happened to him in a century.

And that’s saying something because the twentieth century was nuts.

He stares at it for ages in his full-length mirror, hardly able to believe that it’s really there. It’s the same shape as the Destiny Rune of the Nephilim, but nothing like the large garish marks that cover their bodies. These lines are white and fine, zigzagging and meshing together in places so that it looks like it’s made of tiny bolts of lightning.

He’s seen this before. Over the centuries he has counselled more than a few confused and frightened Warlocks, Lycanthropes and Children of the Night baring marks of the same size and shape. The idea of it happening to him, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, in the twenty-first century is almost laughable.

He shares a soul mark with a Shadowhunter.

He is a Shadowhunter’s soulmate.

He knows that the mark is just an indication that a soul bond between a Nephilim and Downworlder is possible, that the Angel of the Shadowhunters wills it, but does not necessarily command it. Once Magnus has met the bearer of the matching soul mark, he will be able to choose whether or not to accept the bond. It doesn’t stop the chill that spreads across his skin at the thought of being bound to one of those stoic and humourless warriors.  

With one last glance at the mark, he tugs on his black leather pants and strides to the kitchen to fix himself the stiffest drink he can.

***

“What’s going on with your leg?”

It’s just after midnight and he’s midway through a mouthful of the leftover cake from his eighteenth birthday feast. The soft vanilla sponge suddenly feels like sand in his mouth. Isabelle is standing in the doorway to the kitchen staring at the spot on his right thigh where his mark is hidden underneath his clothes. When he glances down, he sees that to his horror the mark is glowing, the bright purple of it cutting through the weave of his sweatpants.

“Nothing,” Alec lies after swallowing down the cake with difficulty. “It’s my just my cell.”

“You must have some freakishly deep pockets.” Isabelle looks ghostly pale in the witchlight and her shrewd tone; coupled with her dangerously raised eyebrows, make Alec temporarily forget that she’s two years younger than him and at least a head shorter. When he keeps blankly staring at her, too horrified to say anything, she rolls her eyes. “Look, Alec, I’m not asking to see it. I just want to know if it’s what I think it is.”

“What do you think it is?” he asks, aiming for casual and hitting panicky instead. Despite some very close calls, he’s managed to keep his secret for four years now and the thought of it being discovered, of it setting off the course of events that he imagines will change everything, fills him with an icy dread.

“I think it’s a soul mark,” she says. Her eyes shine excitedly at the thought of everything that those words entail. This is exactly the kind of scenario Isabelle loves – danger, secrets and forbidden romance – and Alec absolutely hates. Their job involves throwing themselves headfirst into dangerous situations every day. Why add to it by complicating the parts of their life that are supposed to be a respite from all that?

“Mom says that those are just fairytales,” says Alec. His legs are suddenly having difficulty keeping him upright.

“Mundanes would argue that we’re fairytales. It’s hardly beyond the realm of possibility.” Isabelle strides across the kitchen to him and hitches up the hem of her t-shirt to reveal a mark of her own on her right side just below her ribcage. It’s also unmistakably the Destiny Rune, but while Alec’s looks like it is made of a fine network of electricity (especially now that it has taken to glowing), Isabelle’s white marks are elegant, graceful and dangerously sharp, as if the points of the rune are blades that might pierce the skin of whoever touches them.

“Fuck, you too?” he says and Isabelle nods. While he’s momentarily relieved that he’s not alone in this, his fear immediately doubles knowing that he now has to start worrying about his sister’s secret too.

“I noticed it a few weeks back, after my birthday,” she says, tugging her shirt down again. “I thought I’d somehow been marked with the Destiny Rune at first, but it’s so angular and sharp that I know it can’t be entirely Shadowhunter. You know what this means, don’t you? It means that our soulmates, those the Angel wills us to be with are –”

“Look, it’s the middle of the night and we have a big mission tomorrow night,” says Alec, pouring as much finality into his tone as he can. “Goodnight, Izzy.”

“By the Angel, Alec, you can’t just ignore this. It’s important.”

“Goodnight,” he repeats, striding out of the kitchen.

After a tense walk back to his room, dangling his Rune Stone loosely in his hand in the hopes that the bright witchlight drowns out the glow coming from his skin, Alec locks his door and searches in his wardrobe for the knee support he uses to cover his mark when he wears shorts during his training. He rolls up the leg of his sweatpants and before he pulls on the support, he takes a moment to examine the electric purple glow, marvelling at how it makes his mark look almost alive. Small specs of light still shine through the neoprene, but with the added layer of his sweatpants, the unnerving but admittedly beautiful glow is blotted out.

That night, Alec dreams of bright lights, smoky rooms with high ceilings and spine-tingling music from an otherworldly source. In the midst of a swarm of swaying bodies, Alec dreams the colour purple and of dark but irresistible mirth in a glittering pair of cat’s eyes.

***

It’s difficult to define what he feels when he sits up to read the fire message that comes to him from the New York Institute. The polite, but almost demanding words of Jace Wayland, requesting a meeting between him and Clary Fey at an upcoming Downworlder party in exchange for Camille’s necklace fill him with such a mix of emotions that it takes Magnus reading it four or five times to finally make up his mind about it.

His decision made, he swipes the message aside with a dismissive flick of his hand and rolls onto his back.

It’s mid-morning and he’s still in bed, taking an hour or two of quiet from the otherwise non-stop interaction with the large group of Warlocks who are seeking refuge in his lair. No one has come looking for him yet and he’s grateful that despite their fear, they seem to be mostly happy to give him his space. Kicking off his heavy duvet, he hitches his knees up to examine his soul mark for the millionth time, tracing gentle fingers over it like he has for over two years now. It’s been glowing purple for the last week or so and from previous experience, he knows that means that it’s almost time for him to meet the Shadowhunter he’s fated to. It’s this more than anything that seals his decision to attend the meeting. If there’s even the slightest chance that he can meet the bearer of the other soul mark so that he can dismiss them and get on with his life, he’s determined to take it.

Though he hasn’t been strictly discreet about the mark (more than a few of his diversions have remarked upon it mid-kiss, much to Magnus’ annoyance), with Valentine out there hunting down his kind, he knows that the animosity from his people towards the Clave is at an all-time high and it would be unwise to flaunt any signs of familiarity and affection towards them. Not that he has any affection for them. To Magnus, the Nephilim are a necessary evil, an unavoidable part of living in the Supernatural world, no better or worse than any other being, even if they do have angel blood running through their veins. Despite this, for the past week Magnus has had to wrap his knee in dark fabric before pulling on his clothes to make sure that the bright purple light doesn’t cause suspicion, and the extra bulk has been throwing off how amazing he knows his legs look in skinny jeans.

He will have to tell Elias about the meeting, to make sure that he can hold the wards while he’s gone, and he already anticipates how badly that conversation will go. Groaning with the future exhaustion of it, Magnus throws an arm across his eyes and wonders, not for the first time, how he manages to get himself into these situations.

Chairman Meow hops up onto the bed next to him and Magnus turns to look at him, sighing as he strokes him behind his ears.

“Time to meet my Prince or Princess Charming I guess.”

It’s not a happy thought.

***

He tells Isabelle he feels better after his outburst in the weapons room, but he feels worse. There is a dread at the pit of his stomach far worse than any dread he’s ever experienced before a mission. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been. This mission is the riskiest one they’ve ever faced and no amount of Jace’s determination or Isabelle’s almost naïve positivity is doing anything to quell the enormous fear that bubbles just beneath the surface of his skin.

And for what? For some girl with the most tenuous of connections to their world. A girl who might as well be a mundane.

He glares at the back of her stupid orange head as they walk, glamoured, to the nearest subway station. He hates every ignorant, clueless word that comes from her mouth, hates the way that they’re risking everything for her despite having known her for an amount of time quantifiable in hours and most of all, he hates the way Jace looks at her, as if every word she says is a gift and every flick of her hair is a work of art.

The way he’s always secretly hoped Jace would look at him.

“Oh lighten up, Alec,” says Isabelle, threading her arm through his. “We’re going to a Downworlder party which means that there’s a chance you might finally find out why you’ve got that awesome lumo tattoo.”

Alec wants to tell her to shut up, to stop being such a pain in the ass and to realise how fucked up this whole situation is. Instead, he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being so damn… up all the time?”

“Don’t you ever get sick of being such a downer?”

“Arrgh, Izzy you’re so…” he gestures frustratedly with his free hand.

“Adorable?” she grins. “I know.”

He’s still mad, but despite himself, Alec finds that he’s grinning too.

***

Magnus tries to convince himself that the meeting was a success. That the heavy necklace forming a comfortable weight in his pocket proves that it was.

But Clary is as stubborn as her mother, Jace, the surly Shadowhunter who organised the meeting is made of pure asshole and the cherry on top of it all is that he was nearly knifed. Apart from the bright flicker of something that rose in him upon seeing the tall, dark-haired Shadowhunter who saved him with a well-aimed and perfectly-timed arrow, the night was a disaster and Magnus has never been so excited at the thought of the high ceilings and exposed brick walls of his lair.

His excitement quickly turns to horror on the other side of the portal.

Despite knowing for a fact that his living room was supposed to be full of Warlocks keeping up the wards in his absence, he immediately senses that the wards are down. Fearing the worst he bursts through the front door and barely has time to register the bodies of his friends strewn around his living room like ragdolls before spotting two strange men on the other side of the room.

Rage floods through him and he immediately begins launching attack after attack at them, managing to incinerate one of them. The other glances around at his burning friend, his face betraying horror before turning back and smirking malevolently at Magnus. Backing towards the door, Magnus uses a surge of magic to throw a bookshelf in front of the man.

He needs to trip. Spells are always harder to cast on a moving target.

In grim and hollow amusement, through a rip in the knee of his pants, his eyes catch a glint of luminescent gold.

So he did meet his Shadowhunter tonight after all.

***

Magnus Bane is nothing like Alec imagined him and even with the pictures Hodge showed them earlier, seeing him in person is unnerving and surreal.

He would expect a Warlock reluctantly coming out of hiding to try to dress somewhat inconspicuously, but Bane seems to have dressed to draw the eye as much as possible. The sequined collar of his patterned jacket catches the colourful lights of the club, as do the pendants around his neck, rings on his fingers and earring just below the tip of his ear. His hair is artfully tousled and Alec notices with a jolt, discovering a new one of his ‘things’, that Bane’s eyes are elegantly lined with dark makeup.

He’s hot, he admits to himself with only the slightest reluctance.

Alec is taken aback when, a second later, as if to throw all his remaining fucks out the window, Bane casts a portal and offers a hand to Clary. Alec is surprised, but not so surprised that he doesn’t feel a faint sense of relief at the idea of Clary leaving.

Good. Go with the Warlock and be his problem from now on.

Then, just behind the portal, Alec’s eye catches the glint of a Seraph blade.

He doesn’t know how he reacts as quickly as he does. Years of training have honed his reflexes to razor sharpness, but nothing like this. One moment he’s watching the exchange between Jace, Clary and Bane, unable to tear his eyes away from the glittering Warlock when, and the next, one of his arrows is embedded in the chest of the figure wielding the knife. He doesn’t even remember drawing his bow.

He rushes down the stairs to retrieve his arrow, unable to ignore the faint crackle of electricity he feels as he passes the Warlock, nor the interested ‘Who are you?’ he’s sure he hears the Warlock mutter. He doesn’t know why, but the vague inkling that Bane might be just as surprised and fascinated by him as he is by Bane makes him feel immensely pleased with himself.

He realises that this must be how Jace feels all the time.

No sooner has he catalogued this string of confusing and incoherent thoughts than the Bane is stepping towards the portal, ignoring Clary’s pleas for him not to leave. He loosens himself from her grasp and a second later, vanishes along with the necklace and any bargaining power with him that they thought they might have. Large groups of Downworlders are staring at them now and they race out of the club before anyone can start asking questions.

If Alec was angry before, it’s nothing to the seething rage he feels now.

How can Jace not see what a liability this stupid, immature girl is? How is he so blind to the irresponsible, life-threatening risks they’re taking for her?

As Jace starts admonishing him for pointing out how stupid this whole situation is, It’s all Alec can do not to punch him in pure frustration.

And now Clary is yelling at him. Clary whose fault this is. Clary who has no idea what she is asking Jace and Isabelle and him to do. What she’s asking them to put on the line for her sake.

Alec has to grit his teeth to fight the urge to hit her too.

He is both relieved and frustrated when Jace opens his hand to reveal the button from Magnus Bane’s jacket. Part of him, the part of him that is pure Shadowhunter, wants nothing more than to shake this Magnus Bane for all the information he has so that they can get their hands on the Mortal Cup and this whole nightmare can be over. The other part of him, the part of him that is Jace, is terrified of what information from the Warlock might mean for his Parabatai’s sudden disregard for his own life.

There’s another part of him that’s begging for another glance at the Warlock, but Alec pushes this part down as far as he can.

Alec ultimately finds himself pleased when Jace can’t track Bane, and there’s a moment fleeting victory in the idea that they won’t be able to carry on with the Mundane girl’s deadly wild goose chase. It evaporates a second later, however, when Jace turns to him expectantly and Alec knows what he’s going to ask before he asks it.

Parabatai tracking. Of course.

There are times that being Jace’s Parabatai is the most beautiful thing in the world. When in the middle of a fight it feels less like a battle and more like a choreographed dance and when their shared memories become almost physical chords that strengthen the bond between them, ties that almost tangibly bind them.

There are other times, however, where Alec deeply resents their connection, when he hates the fact that they are stronger together, that they’re weaker apart, and that he’ll go along with pretty much anything Jace asks him to do.

This is one of those times.

He grasps Jace’s outstretched hand, pushing away the jolt he feels whenever their skin connects and tries to drown out the litany of unhelpful thoughts that surge as he stares into Jace’s bright blue eyes. It’s almost cruel how the one thing he wants most in the world plays a vital part in any Parabatai ritual, but never in the right way. Never how Alec wants it to be.

After a few agonising moments where Alec’s heart beats so loudly against his ribcage, he’s sure that Jace can feel it thrumming through his palm, they catch a glimpse of a run-down warehouse and Magnus inside it. Jace lets go of Alec’s hand and immediately sets off, expecting the rest of them to follow him.

Alec resentfully, but obediently, does.

They’re barely inside the warehouse when they realise that something isn’t right. Bane’s wards are down which can only mean danger.

Alec’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. Of course this wasn’t going to be a straightforward house call.

“You,” he says to Clary, full of hatred so acute, he feels as if he might choke on it, “don’t get in the way.”

He sees his loathing for her reflected back at him and it fills him with an odd satisfaction. At least they have something in common.

The sight of one of Valentine’s men violently stabbing another man snaps him instantly back into focus. He’ll worry about Clary later; right now he has a job to do.

There are people on the lower level and Alec knows that he should be helping them – after all, Jace seems to have the better idea of where Bane might be – but somewhere in his gut, he feels drawn to the top floor where he hopes that the Warlock is still alive and fighting.

“I’ve got Bane,” he says to Jace as he dashes past, bow at the ready, and Jace nods, throwing a knife expertly into the shoulder of the man Isabelle had caught in her whip. He tries not to think about the stupid smile he sees Clary give him as he makes his way along a narrow walkway towards what he assumes is Bane’s front door.

There are people strewn everywhere and it’s not clear if they’re dead or alive. Alec has to swallow his horror as he rounds a corner to find Bane fighting off the advance of a horrible smirking man. With the same unexplainable reflexes that he discovered at the party, Alec shoots an arrow and it flies true, straight into the asshole’s leg. The man recoils in pain and while he lies prone, Bane makes quick work of finishing him off.

“Well done,” says Alec, genuinely impressed. He doesn’t often get to see magic up-close.

“More like medium rare,” he shrugs. A second or two later, the Warlock is striding towards him and time seems to grind to a halt as Alec’s brain short-circuits. While he’s found many men attractive over the years, it was never like this. Whether because Magnus Bane is a Downworlder or just one of the most interesting people Alec has ever seen, this is something new and uncharted and dangerous and he doesn’t know if he loves it or hates it yet.

All he knows is that Magnus is very beautiful and now he’s standing very close to him. There’s a faint gold glow coming from somewhere between them and it catches the traces of glitter on his face, giving him an almost angelic look.

“I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

The friendly smile on his face masks something pleasantly dark and wicked just beneath and Alec can’t help the silly grin that takes over his own features knowing that he’s got Magnus’ full attention. That all of Magnus’ charm in that moment is directed at him.

“Alec,” he says, and Magnus smile shifts suddenly to something almost shy. It’s disarming but lovely and Alec realises panicked that he needs to get out of there. Now.

“I, uh… we should really, you know, probably get… you know?” He gestures towards the door, words tumbling uselessly out of his mouth.

“Right,” Magnus nods. “We should join the party.”

His tone is amused but kind and Alec suddenly wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Right,” Alec repeats breathlessly, before turning and all but running towards Magnus’ front door. He leans just outside it for a moment, allowing his brain a moment to process what just happened.

The fuck, Lightwood?

It’s only halfway down the stairs that Alec realises that the golden glow that lit up Magnus’ face had been coming from a rip in Magnus’ pants, right where there would be a glow coming from Alec’s if his were ripped like that.

In his shock, he misses a step and nearly plunges headfirst down the rest of the stairs, when he’s stopped in midair and gently lifted back to his feet by what feels like a warm breeze. He glances around to see Magnus at the top of the stairs, purple light retracting back into his hand and amusement deeply etched into his features. The tear at his knee looks like it’s been repaired, but whether through his Shadowhunter abilities or just wishful thinking, Alec thinks he can still see the faint glow of gold beneath the blue fabric.

“Now, Alexander, it won’t do to have you falling for me so quickly,” he almost purrs as he descends to where Alec is standing, dumbstruck. “We’ve only just met, after all.”

Magnus is teasing, flirting, and Alec knows it. What he knows even more though is that his words are more true than Alec is willing to admit.

Fucking Warlocks.

***

Shadowhunters, Magnus muses as he finally crawls into bed, are probably far more trouble than they’re worth.

Only a Shadowhunter could save your life after being summoned to an ultimately useless and disappointing meeting, track you down after you portal the fuck out of there, arrive just in time to heroically help save your life and the lives of many of the other Warlocks in your care, help you move home (in a way), then ask your help in summoning a greater demon, fuck up the ritual so thoroughly that not only is the whole operation rendered useless, but someone nearly dies, then demand help for said nearly killed someone and, finally, stalk off sullenly because the ritual made you confront actual feelings.

Not that Magnus is keeping score or anything.

He lies staring at the golden glow of what used to be his perfectly normal (though admittedly flawless) leg, wondering what he fucked up so royally in the last decade or two so as to warrant this fresh hell. Is he doomed now to always be dragged into the insane mix of bureaucracy and violence that is the world of the Nephilim?

No. Not if he doesn’t want to be. He still has a choice.

But his choice just got one whole Alexander Lightwood more complicated.

He definitely met the bearer of the other soul mark tonight (there’s no other way his mark would be glowing gold like this) he knows it must be one of four people. It’s not Clary or Isabelle – their marks would have been visible below the hems of their dresses – leaving Magnus with just Sullen Steve (who seems to only have eyes for Clary anyway) and sweet, shy and impenetrably guarded Alec, the conundrum. It’s his conviction that Alec is the owner of the matching mark that makes it so difficult for Magnus to be as convinced about his decision as he was a few days earlier.

The idea of soulmates is almost entirely a Shadowhunter one, grounded in their belief that their Angel connects people who will bring out the best in each other for the good of the world. As such, the concept is not one that usually exists in his usual circles. The only occasions where Downworlders give it any thought are times like this, where a mark suddenly appears on their skin with no explanation and they come looking for answers.

“’When the Nephilim meet their fated, the Destiny Rune marks the skin on the same part of their bodies – one’s mark on the left and the other’s on the right,” Magnus has explained dozens of times throughout the centuries. “However, if the Angel wills that a Nephilim be fated to a Downworlder, the mark appears sooner, as a warning to both that if they choose this path, it will not be easy. You will notice that these pale white lines may remain exactly as they are for a long time. Then, shortly before you meet your fated, the soul mark will begin to glow. This is a sign that you should pay attention to any Nephilim you might meet. Once you have met your fated, it will glow gold and after both of you acknowledge that you share the mark, it will glow white. From here you will have a choice. You will either be able to choose to pursue a life with your fated, in which case your soul marks will fade to black as the Nephilim’s do, or you can choose to go your separate ways and the marks will vanish altogether. It is important to know that this mark does not bind you to anything unless you want it to, that there is no limit to the time you may take to consider your decision, but that whatever you decide, whether for or against, it is final and there is no way to reverse it. This choice is a gift not granted to ordinary Nephilim soul pairs, so do not take it lightly.”

Magnus’ words sound hollow and glib now that he’s actually faced with the reality of them. A gift indeed. More like being stuck between a Shadowhunter and an Alec-less place. He can’t put his finger on what it is about the Shadowhunter boy that fascinates him so much, though the fact that he’s one of the most gorgeous people Magnus has ever encountered definitely doesn’t hurt.

He supposes it’s his thing with the cats.

In all his years, he’s never once owned a cat that was not plucked, cold and shivering, from a gutter or alleyway or found abandoned and starving in an apartment that an unfeeling family had since vacated. Magnus brings them home, heals them, shows them the good life, loves them. And, if he’s honest, it’s not just cats. His drive to heal and fix is the reason his home is always open to any Downworlder in need, why there are a half a dozen Warlocks in his living room right at this moment.

So many things in the world need repairing and Magnus, though unapologetically prone to his bouts of hedonism and selfishness, enjoys being a part of repairing them.

Not that Alec needs repairing though. He’s not broken, just convinced that he’s invisible. His shy garbled introduction, the surprised but pleased smile he gets every time Magnus flirts with him, the entire disaster with the memory demon and how he refuses to publicly acknowledge who he really is and what he really feels – all of it points to deep-seated insecurity and certainty that hiding is the best way to eke out an existence. Seeing him with the other Shadowhunters, it makes sense. Between Jace’s arrogant but effortless charm, Isabelle’s beauty and vivacious personality and even Clary’s naïve vulnerability, it’s easy to see how Alec gets overlooked. How he allows himself to be overlooked because he thinks it’s the norm.

What Alec needs is for someone to see him – to truly make the effort to dig through all his unnecessary layers of protection and to show him that it’s okay to be visible. That it’s okay to be acknowledged and noticed and loved for who he is and what he does. And since it seems like no one else is looking, Magnus decides that, soulmate or not, it might be up to him.

As much as Magnus could stay up (and indeed, wants to stay up) pondering Alec all night, he realises that he’s used a lot of magic and he needs sleep if he's to have any hope of strengthening his wards tomorrow. He pulls up his covers and glances at the dull golden glow beneath the grey of his bedding. Chairman Meow is on the pillow next to him, cleaning his face.

“Young man, if I ever find you talking to any Shadowhunter cats, you have no idea how grounded you’ll be.”

The cat pauses in the middle of licking his paw to fix Magnus with a withering glare and the Warlock chuckles as he turns over to sleep.

Between Valentine and this new self-imposed mission, Magnus realises that this is going to be a long century.

[shazyloren]

The Dragon Club: Chapter 27 - Rhaegar and Jon

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12018519/chapters/27872520

----------

"So, you're the journalist that slandered my sister on your blog" Rhaegar huffed as he sat on a seat next to Jon in the waiting room. Daenerys was currently talking to her mother, they were still crying over the news that her father was stable. She was glance at him every now and then; he hated seeing her cry. He never thought such a strong woman would be able to cry so much as she has the last few hours; of course there was no shame in it but it had just taken Jon by surprise.

Viserys was asleep on one of the chairs in the waiting room, mouth open with his tongue hanging out and snoring quite loudly. And now as he sat wishing there was something he could do, he instead was going to be grilled by her older brother. He was a handsome man in his youth, he looked exactly like Dany it was quite freaky. Violet eyes and silver blonde hair he'd put into a bun, a little bit of scruff on the face which was a little darker.

"Aye, I was wrong in my initial impressions though" Jon meekly spoke. He didn't want to awake the dragon in any of her family members, he'd already done that with Dany he didn't need a shouting match with the rest of them. But he felt a calming sort of aura around Rhaegar, Dany had said he was the polite one of the family, the golden child.

"And now you're bringing her to the hospital, you've been spotted with her out on dates, you're doing this joint cover together. A lot to dissect and think about" Rhaegar huffed as he took a final swig of the coffee in his hands. Jon felt the heat rush to his head, he knew it was coming but he hadn't expected it so soon, while they waited to see if their father was okay.

"I think she's happy with me; I don't really get let in often"

"She's not a very communicative woman at the best of times, she likes to keep herself and her emotions in check"

"I've noticed, although I believe she has opened up to me a little" Jon said coolly. He didn't know how much Rhaegar knew about the whole Doreah fiasco, probably not much, maybe all of it, but he wasn't going to say anything. "She's a very interesting soul"

"She's stubborn, that's what she is" Rhaegar sighed as he threw his empty coffee cup into the bin. Rhaegar smiled sweetly, as if remembering something. "When she was nine she was determined to build a castle in the garden from mud and grass; Father had said that ladies don't do such activities but she defied him and a few hours later she'd got three towers and a courtyard built. It was very impressive, so impressive that even father wasn't mad. She'd soiled her clothes and got mud under her nails and a worm in her hair, but he was impressed nonetheless"

"Sounds like Daenerys" Jon smiled to himself, she was stubborn. Every interaction he'd ever had with her was proof of her stubborn nature. Every time she had tried to dig her claws into him she'd stubbornly rejected his digs in return. Yet of late, she was softening, as their relationship has grown it has blossomed into a beautiful thing. They hadn't argued, they just was in cloud nine over each other. "She's a softie really"

"My sister's anything but" Rhaegar retorted.

"Well she was stubborn to start with, as she had every right to be over the article I wrote, but she has let her guard down" Jon coolly spoke, trying not to push Rhaegar the wrong way. "She's quite extraordinary, how quickly she amassed her company"

"That's father's fault" Rhaegar laughed as he rubbed his temples.

"I know he kicked her out" Jon sat in his seat a little higher up. Rhaegar just snorted.

"Yeah that was a... rough day for our family. She's never seen eye to eye with him since, always trying to prove herself. Of course, she's a far better business owner than father will ever be, the fact she had triple his profits last year is part and parcel of that given her company is thirty years younger than his. I think he's proud of her, but he'd never admit it. I bet even when he comes to he'll moan at her for something"

"Doesn't seem fair" Jon brooded.

"He's always expected more from her. He resigned himself to the fact I did not want to be his heir. I met Elia at college and went into the army not long after that. Since then I have been a retired Veteran raising two kids. Viserys, the sleeping beauty, is his heir, but father says he thinks Viserys will sell the business when he's gone. Which is probably true, he'd use the money to fund his many girlfriends and their expensive hobbies. But Daenerys, he always wanted more from her"

"What happened?" Jon was intrigued, Rhaegar had said enough to whet his appetite for information, he hoped he did not stop.

"Daenerys asked for $2000, that's all. Just to fund the starting of her online blog. She had used the last of her allowance to buy a user domain for online. But she needed products to model and layouts to choose from etc. He refused; he put her clothes in a bag, kicked her out with her car and gave her $2000 to live on instead. He said if she was serious about being a business owner she wasn't to go back to his house until she hit her first million. She came back seven months later with four issues of Valyrian magazine published online and a million dollars in her account from advertisement, membership subscriptions and collections from people in the cafe where she worked"

"Wow" Jon didn't know this part.

"Father offered her to live back home but she refused, she said she'd come back when she'd got 10 million. She came back another seven months later and showed him her bank statement. Again he offered her the room. She refused and said she'd be back when he'd got a financial backer to have it printed into a magazine to go on shelves. She turned up with Tyrion Lannister on her father's door five months later"

"That's incredible" Jon felt inspired once more by the woman he courted. "She's truly something different"

"I'm surprised mother hasn't gone after her over something or other. She has never forgiven her for not coming back home, for not speaking to her very often"

"She said her mother can be... intense" Jon threw in.

"Understatement, even I think she goes too far sometimes. They seem to forget that they were the ones to throw her out initially" Rhaegar mused. Jon noticed how tired he looked, two children must do that to you. Jon felt uneasy as Rhaegar sighed and stared at his sister who was still talking to her mother. "Why are you with her Jon?"

"I'm sorry?" Jon was caught off guard.

"Why are you with her, what is it about my sister you like?" He said with slight authority. "Because she's got badly hurt in the past, and I need to know if you're gonna do the same. I love her very dearly and I can't go through that again, can't watch her go through it"

"You mean Drogo?" Jon felt slightly insulted; he knew what had happened to her, by Drogo, he would never hurt Daenerys in such a way, in anyway. He was falling for her, he enjoyed every minute in her company and craved her when he wasn't around her. Rhaegar nodded, slightly surprised that Jon knew about this. Jon thought about his question carefully before answering.

"I lost someone I loved, I didn't think I'd feel that way about anyone again. For three years i'd never met someone who, inspired me the way i was before. And then I was challenged, by this fiery and stubborn spirit and I was intrigued. Of course she kicked me out of the interview and I wrote what I thought to be the truth at the time. Not the best first impression for either of us to make with each other. A few weeks later, after several chance meetings in a supermarket and other places, I was having dinner with her friends at her apartment"

Jon thought back on the last 10 weeks, it's been mad. And it still amazed him how a quiet and gentle soul such as himself was with the fiery and loud soul of hers. He felt his brow furrow, he was going into brooding mode. "The Dragon Club?"

"I hate that name" Jon laughed, stopping himself from looking too gloomy. "But she insists" Jon sighed as he looked at her, skin red and blotchy from her tears, her eyes wet and her hair sticking to her face. He wanted to soothe her, ease her pain. But it wasn't something he could do; her father had nearly died. "She's managed to get through to me, changed my opinion on her quite dramatically. She attended my sister's wedding with me and with both hinted that we liked each other. But it wasn't until a week after that when we got into a petty argument, my fault, I'll admit it. We went from there, starting a fresh and since then we've been in bliss"

"She's been different the last few weeks" Rhaegar spoke after Jon's spiel. "Happier" Jon just nodded awkwardly. "You're doing something right"

"I hope so; I don't understand how women work really"

Rhaegar almost barked. "Jon, mate. I've been married seventeen years and I still don't know how they work. I don't think we're suppose to know; just treat them right and apologise for everything you do wrong even if you think you're in the right. Elia is not just my wife, she's my best friend. And we're happy as we are; I'd like my siblings to find that happiness one day. I think you're helping"

Jon nodded with smiles. "So, I passed the test then?"

"Well, mine yes"Jon's faced paled. "But I'm sure you'll hear the same spiel from Viserys and my mother"

He winked before getting out of his seat and joining Dany and Rhaella's conversation.