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sweetflanfiction · 3 months ago

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Asymetrical Symphony - Part 6

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: Thank you guys for commenting and faving the story. I'm always happy to read all you guys tell me! I'm going to try and reply back. Anywho, let the rollercoaster begin.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5

• ··········· • ············ •

The following week, you restarted the journey to becoming a member of Piltover's society under Esther’s wing.

The official story was: Your real mother was your aunt, and you had come back to Piltover after your fictional mother died, and because your real mother's maternal instincts were so fine-tuned, your real mother didn't mind that you or anyone else, for that matter, called you her child, and her your mother. Complicated? Yep. It would feed the gossip circles for years, and honestly, you both thrived on the drama.

Clothes were brought, space was made, introductions were done, and the process of making you an official Rainemour in the world was set in motion.

It felt like home, back to your old Topsider self, with the added extra of waking up, kicking and screaming with the feeling of fingertips on your forehead.

It had been a flurry of new faces, new places, and new customs. You met the house staff, Jaime and Oly, and the cook, Voltaire. While the two keepers lived on the lower floors, Voltaire lived somewhere other than the Cinquefoil building. He had been your mother’s friend for a few years and was the chef at several topside restaurants.

You still hadn't met the elusive Wyllah, but you had found out who she was. She was an art merchant, away on business, but most important, she was your mother’s significant other. Your mother had told you one night, almost in fear, she had found love after your father’s passing. You had blinked and shrugged. Nobody deserved to go through life alone.

Your mother’s life has been quite interesting on this side of the dimension rift. She was a writer, penning a series of fantasy books that magic lovers drank like water. She also found herself advocating for better education in Piltover. All of Piltover, especially the undercity. Esther tried to help those who wanted a chance to change their future.

It was only a matter of time until fate brought her and a certain engineer who also had a like-minded vision together. After that meeting, Esther became a patron of the Talis Lab and the Academy, helping with funding for any projects regarding the betterment of the city.

And that was the reason why you were now making your way towards a familiar lab in the Academy. A commission for her needed approval and had been delayed long enough with the rocket attack and you appearing out of thin air. Or, according to the gossip, like an illegitimate child.

“You didn’t need to come along.” She mumbled while pushing the elevator button.

“I wanted to come.” You smiled confidently at her. You wanted everyone to see you and become accustomed to you. It would be beneficial if you wanted to get into the business of saving the world.

“To check on your friends?”

You nodded. Before the Herald and the HexAngels, between Jayce becoming a councilor and the hextech showing its true colors, most of your time was divided between the music conservatory, the orchestra, Talis' labs, and home. And from all of those, home was the one you went to less and less with time. Therefore, when allowed to have even a single second of normalcy in a familiar place, you seized it.

When the elevator dinged, you walked inside with a conviction that was only masking a feeling of nervousness. Yes, you knew this place and the face on the other side of the lab door, but they didn't. You were just a stranger.

“Has it changed much?” Your mother whispered, and you grinned at her.

“Nah, a few artworks and garbage cans. Some names on the doors, but nothing else.”

“Really? Fascinating.” Her face was deep in thought.

“Stop.” You chuckled, knowing that look. She was taking mental notes. “It’s not that interesting.”

The elevator pinged and opened again. Instinctively you walked out first, knowing exactly where to go, your mother keeping up with you, scoffing.

“Well, excuse me if I find it amazing that my child jumped through time and space to save the world.”

“I didn’t save the world.” You rolled your eyes at her.

“Viktor is still alive, isn’t he?” She noted, raising her eyebrows.

As soon as she finished that sentence, a small thump of a dry explosion was heard inside the hextech lab. Like an empty milk carton was squished with a stomp.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” She added.

Another small firecracker-like explosion was heard, prompting you both to look at each other and break into a jog to reach the lab.

As expected, the door was locked, and although you had told your mom about a lot, the magic part was still something that needed some explanation. So you resorted to the least efficient way to open a closed door: banging on it.

“Viktor! Jayce?” Esther shouted. A few groans from behind the door warned you there was someone alive inside. Well, capable of moaning in pain was more accurate.

“Get the enforcers.” You mumbled to your mother; she nodded and raced around the corner.

As soon as she was out of sight, you pulled your glove off and magically unlocked the door, punching the rune you painted near the lock. The door immediately opened with the force of your hit but didn’t swing open as expected. It hit something and bounced back, slamming shut again while someone grunted in pain on the other side.

It’s funny how you could know someone from their tiniest squeak. And you knew that groan. You'd know it had it come from the other side of Piltover. Hells, you'd know it if it had been heard through the actual space and time rift.

Carefully this time you twisted the door handle, opening the door gently and peeking inside the lab.

Although the curtains were open, a dusty, thick white fog lingered in the air, making the room a shade darker. The floor was littered with tools, gears, and pencils that had fallen from their places, and a pair of goggles was lying on the floor next to a welding machine.

Viktor was sprawled on the ground, leaning back into one of his hands while the other was gently massaging his face. One of his legs was twisted uncomfortably, and the other was bent at the knee in front of him. You could see as he rubbed his face that there was blood coming from somewhere. After a while, he shook his head and looked up at the door.

When he managed to focus his gaze on you, his eyebrows knotted in confusion and then realization. With a sigh, he sat, grabbed the leg that was twisted uncomfortably, and brought it forward. You heard a metallic thud. Hextech leg. Your gaze shifted to his face; you saw the blood coming from his nose, but it didn’t seem broken. Above his eyebrow was a small curved gash, a courtesy of the goggles he probably ripped off his head.

“We do need to stop meeting like this.” he mumbled, trying to get up with the grace of a baby deer using its long limbs for the first time.

Putting your glove back on, you took a step closer and offered him a hand, which he accepted with raised eyebrows and a head tilt.

With more expertise than he was expecting, you grabbed his hand and forearm and pulled him up. Picking this man off the floor had become a skill both you and Jayce obtained a long time ago. His disability unfortunately made him an easy target for misfires. While you and Jayce would easily dodge anything coming your way, Viktor wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And since the fastest way to move him fast was pushing him out of the way, the three of you would end up on the floor, and either you or Jayce would shield Viktor from whatever was malfunctioning at the time. It wasn't your proudest idea, but it worked, and for better or worse, you all would escape relatively unscathed.

“Like what?” You asked, joining him in dusting off his clothes.

You patted his back gently, feeling the brace on his spine under his clothes. You didn't find it.

“After an explosion.” He swished the dust off his coat sleeves. The off-white coat was a tinge darker after the mishap.

“Technically, this is the first time we meet after an explosion.” You emphasized the word ‘after’ and he stopped mid-swipe, turning his face back towards you.

Shrugging, you lifted the corners of your mouth, giving him a grin that he responded to with a chuckle. You looked around the mess that was the lab at this moment and spotted his white cane and his wheeled bench.

You grabbed the cane first and gently pushed the stool so it would roll down next to him. He plopped down with a groan, using the table as leverage. You handed him the cane, and he nodded. You smile at his messy figure.

“Thank you.” He said, placing the cane between his knees and leaning into it with a heavy sigh.

“Do you need anything else?” You asked softly, stopping the urge to kneel next to him and take stock of his injuries.

“There is a first-aid kit somewhere on Jayce's desk. It’s on the...”

Before he finished the sentence, you jiggled the white box next to him, having already grabbed it when he mentioned it.

“How did…?” He asked, looking at you questioningly, and panic set in for a second.

“Oh, my dear boy!” Your mother burst in, followed by several Enforcers, and you sighed in relief.

“Is everything alright?” One of the Enforcers said, and you took a step back, leaning against the table behind where Viktor sat.

“Yes…” Viktor stated while your mother fussed over him.

One of the enforcers looked at you, and you recognized his eyes. He had been one of the men you had pushed out of your way at the front door of the Academy. You looked at the floor, trying to not provoke the man.

“Funny. You always seem to appear whenever anything goes boom, don't you?” He spat towards you.

“Not funny at all.” You replied, your tone serious, trying once more not to escalate the situation. For your sake and the people you cared about who were now looking between you and the Enforcer.

“Maybe we should call Officer Kiraman. I’m sure she would like to know that once again you’re in the vicinity of an attack.” He snarled, and you scowled at him, about to let him have it.

“You are going to call Officer Kiraman over a malfunctioning piece of equipment?” Viktor interrupted, straightening up with a wince while using his cane to get up from the stool. “Do you think she’ll get here before or after reading all the condolence letters sent to her? Or perhaps she will make time on Remembrance Day, right before the speech honoring her deceased mother."

A pin could be heard through the silence if a pin would have dropped in the lab. The main enforcer was looking at him, mouth hanging open; you and your mother looked at each other and then at a very collected, very serious Viktor. He seemed taller, with his shoulders straight, and you knew that after that tumble he was going to hurt for at least a week, but that didn't stop him from stepping up to the Enforcers. You had forgotten how much sass that man could pack in a single line.

“When is it going to be, officer?” The engineer shrugged, limping back towards a pile of sheets that had flown back. “I need to tidy up before she gets here.”

It took the group of Enforcers three seconds to clear out after that, and a collective sigh was heard from the three of you.

“You’d think being knocked around would make their synapses work faster.” Viktor waved a hand at them, still picking up papers, stopping midway to look at you, like he had just realized you were there. “Not that I agree with knocking around enforcers…or that you knocked around enforcers… I’m just saying…”

He was flustered, talking with his free hand while his eyes looked around the room. You chuckled, and he stopped when he heard you.

“You’re just saying…?” You teased, rolling your hand for him to keep going.

“Nothing of importance, I suppose.” He turned back to the table.

“I was hoping you could show me the reader.” Esther announced, grabbing a few nuts and bolts and placing them next to Viktor. “But I imagine it's not functioning.”

Viktor turned to her, realizing finally why you were both there. He smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, yes and no.” He said, tilting his head from side to side. “The explosion wasn’t it, but it was a component that I was trying to recreate to use in another experiment.”

“And now both are fried.” You answered by crossing your arms.

“Well…yes. But if you give me a few hours, I can make it work, at least for the reader. The other thing will wait, I guess…” he said quickly. “Better yet, give me a few minutes so I can get it, and I can at least show you what I have for now.”

“It's quite alright, dear. Take your time. We can just come back another time.” Esther said, and part of you felt disappointed.

Your second home was right here.

“That would hardly be fair. You’ve made it here. Give me a few minutes, an hour tops.” He was limping around waving his hand and cane.

“I suppose I do need to speak with Councilor Salo.” Your mother shrugged nonchalantly. “Do you want to—”

“No.” You cut her off. “Not really. You go ahead. I’ll get reacquainted with the Academy.”

“Reacquainted?” Viktor inquired, looking towards you.

“Last time I was here, I didn’t exactly take the scenic route.” You covered your mistake with an easy joke, and he chuckled at it.

• ············ •

You managed to walk around the Academy undisturbed. It was weird to walk around the familiar corridors, passing by people you knew and fighting the urge to say hello and strike up a conversation. It was awfully lonely, seeing everyone going about their lives, never knowing about you.

Although it saddened you, you understood that it wasn’t because you weren’t needed in their lives but because fate found a way to replace you. Maybe you hadn’t saved Sky from falling down the stairs in this universe, because maybe her classroom was on the same floor she was at.

As you wandered, you found yourself in a corridor with very recognizable double doors. The Council Chamber was guarded by several guards, and you felt the morbid curiosity to see if the room was the same as it was in your time.

As you searched your brain for a way to bypass the guards, a familiar whispering in your ear. The rune from the elevator flashed behind your eyes. The one you hadn’t managed to make work. You took your gloves off again and drew the symbol in a railing, disguising it as an absent movement as you looked down to the courtyard. You let it go, and nothing happened for a couple of seconds.

And then the groaning of metal grinding against another surface filled your ears. Your eyes turned upwards as you saw the metal spike that held the Academy’s banner to the stone ceiling give way and slip. The heavy banner made a swoosh noise as it fell, and your eyes widened.

You saw the Enforcers run towards the elevator and the stairs. You turned your back to them and waited until their hurried footsteps had softened.

Quickly you made your way to the chamber through the door you had burst open. A new door had been placed and locked, but you unlocked it with three swipes of your fingers.

The chamber room was as spacious as you remembered, the hole in the dome a grim reminder that those who sat in this room were as vulnerable as everyone else in the city. You remembered Viktor’s diagram, looking around at the empty and cracked chairs. Most of the smaller debris had been cleaned off, leaving only the big and medium chunks. The ones that couldn't just be carried off by crewmen. The sun shone high and bright in the clear sky, illuminating the whole room, the long pieces of the damaged dome casting a shadow on the floor.

You touched parts of the smooth stone that were still intact and walked toward the edge of the room, feeling the wind on your face. It had been an awakening to these people, but not the one that Piltover needed. This whole region forgot how hard it is to break a rope and how easy it is to break a strand. Only in the end did they figure out that the many are more powerful than the few. That blood, once spilt, is equally red whether it is from Zaun or Topside.

Closing your eyes, you stood for a moment, somewhat grieving what had been the beginning of the end.

(Nemo - The Code)

Welcome to the show. Let everybody know I’m done playing the game. I’ll break out of the chains.

Until the wind started whispering in your ear and your eyes shot open. What looked to be blue dust started to float like specks of dust toward the middle of the room, and you followed the flow. There was nothing there. But there could be.

You better buckle up; I'll pour another cup. This is my bohème, so drink it up, my friend.

Your hand moved unconsciously, drawing the rune in the air like it was second nature. You pushed it out with a flick of your hand. Like in the graveyard, it divided itself into several wisps of light and quickly moved toward parts of the broken table and chairs. A familiar rune appeared, but so did many others. Some are more complicated, others just little flicks of light. Shining bright in the middle of the rubble or being illuminated by sunlight.

I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.

You walked towards what had been the middle of the cog-like shape and watched as the wisps danced around. Looking around, you noticed the runes were surrounding you, pulsating like a heartbeat; you noticed your hand doing the same, in rhythm with the wisps. You saw a small piece of rubble that had been missing by the cleaning crew and took a deep breath.

“Here goes nothing.”

Let me tell you a tale about life, 'Bout the good and the bad; better hold on tight.

Starting with the rune in front of you, you carved it on the floor, the piece of rubble in your hand serving as a makeshift chalk. You kept carving the runes on the floor in front of where they appeared in the air. The world around you faded, and your vision became focused.

See the rune, and trace the rune on the floor.

Let me taste the lows and highs; let me feel that burning fright.

It was automatic; you didn’t think or even study the rune. At some point, you felt like it was the rune commanding you to write, rather than your desire to write them. And even though it was akin to someone using your arm and hand to do this, it never felt like you couldn’t stop.

It was almost cathartic.

Somewhere between the O's and ones, that's where I found my kingdom come.

When you found yourself at the beginning of the circle of runes, you stopped and took a step back. The wisps had disappeared, but you could see a faint light throbbing under the scratched runes.

It looked so unbelievably perfect for something that you had scratched on the floor with a piece of cement. Every space between runes was precise, and the little ticks and dots were perfectly balanced.

With that amount of rigor, it was easy to see something was missing, a single wisp in the spot where the cog table opened. Familiar strokes. Ones you’ve been looking at ever since you woke up in the hospital.

You looked at your palm, the rune there shining so bright it almost burned. Taking a few steps towards the space, you shook your hand in the air and slammed it into the slot.

My heart beats like a drum.

The whole room shook, and for a second you got scared, but when the runes started ungluing themselves off the ground and quickly zapping around different parts of the table, you became too fascinated with the show to care.

If the building fell, you don’t think you’d even notice.

Every piece of wreckage, big or small, started floating above you, aided by strands of magic that pushed and pulled and moved different pieces toward different places. Their rightful places. Once a piece found its match, it was welded together by a flash of blue light, leaving them complete with a trace of metallic blue where the crack had been.

I went to hell and back. To find myself on track, I broke the code.

You noticed the same thing happening in the chairs, and by the end of the magic show, the table and the chairs were floating around you. Slowly drifting and turning into their right position. Until they wafted back down to the floor with an incredible low thud.

It was almost overwhelming once it was all over how the silence settled around you. The runes on the floor disappeared, your hand stopped glowing, and the table was complete, whole, pieced together by little blue veins. The only thing you heard was the birds outside, the wind through the damaged dome, your heavy breathing, and the clunk of a metal cane hitting the floor.

Your neck snapped at the sound, and you saw a wide-eyed Viktor standing in front of the side door you had entered.

“Your… your mother is… She’s looking for you.” He stuttered.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty

#league of legends #lol #leagueoflegends #arcane #viktor #jayce #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #viktor x reader #arcane herald #arcane season 2 #arcane act 3 #arcane spoilers #arcane x y/n #arcane viktor #arcane x you #arcane characters #arcane x reader

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chickren · 3 months ago

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Do you think Jaime has any idea of Brienne's affection for him during AFFC/ADWD? Or does he still believe Brienne's in love with Renly?

lol

i mean, i joke a lot about her negging him into falling in love with her, but i honestly think she kind of accidentally did?

so, no, i don’t think he knows she’s in love with him. i don’t think he has a fucking clue. to be fair, she didn’t know either the last time they saw each other before pennytree.

you have to remember how their last two interactions in storm went down. first, jaime has her arrested after loras accuses her of renly’s murder. jaime does this to protect her, but brienne doesn’t understand that and she looks at him with eyes full of hurt, thinking he betrayed her. and jaime is borderline apoplectic that she would believe that of him.

then they both carry those emotions into their final asos scene in the white sword tower. jaime’s still smarting from her low opinion of him and is determined to prove to her just how wrong she is about him. his little plan backfires spectacularly. he finds out she still thinks he’s absolute scum, that her opinion of him is perhaps worse now than ever.

as for brienne, she is genuinely confused about what’s happening when she goes into the white sword tower scene. she understands jaime is trying to get loras to drop his accusations, but she has no idea why he’s doing anything he’s doing for her, and she has a hard time trusting people even in simple circumstances. and then jaime makes things worse by being so caustic because she hurt his feelings thinking he betrayed her. the funny thing is, brienne does walk out of the white sword tower scene with jaime vindicated in her mind. from that point on, she talks herself into trusting him, even when she has doubts, until the end of feast where she believes in his sincerity and his good intentions enough to full-throatedly defend him against accusations of villainy.

but jaime is privy to none of that. the last message he got from her was that she thought he would try to bribe her to kill sansa. she tries to backtrack from that accusation in the moment but he’s emotionally checked out of the conversation at that point, melted into a puddle of toxic jaime goo.

so by the time they meet again in dance, they’re in this weird position where i’d argue brienne is probably more ready to accept that jaime could have feelings for her than he is to accept that she has feelings for him. just the fact that someone with brienne’s life experience can bring herself to wonder what jaime would do if she cried on his shoulder tells me she has a slight clue he feels something.

but jaime really doesn’t have anything to hang onto that would indicate brienne has feelings for him. lol, i mean anything nice or good she’s done for him are things he could write off as basically being her job.

the only caveat to jaime’s knowledge of brienne’s feelings for him is that he does know she is physically attracted to him.

after loras leaves them in the round room, brienne is awkward and hesitant when jaime compliments her, and then she flounders trying to compliment him back. compare it to the bathhouse scene where we know from brienne’s pov that she was very attracted to him but jaime didn’t really clock it. here, he notices. she’s “flustered.” she wants “to flee.” even if he doesn’t explicitly diagnose the cause of her slightly bumbling reaction to seeing him in the white cloak inside his own head, i think he knows. mostly because he’s still just arrogant, smooth-talking jaime at that point, as opposed to later when she emotionally disembowels him in slow and painful stages and he turns into a wounded animal.

to me, the way he notices brienne’s physical attraction to him is not dissimilar to the way he describes amerei frey’s interactions with him. he never explicitly thinks that ami’s hitting on him, but it’s obvious that she is, and it’s obvious that he knows she is.

also important to note for the white sword tower scene is that jaime deliberately gets dolled up in his full kingsguard kit for brienne, and then sits there like a clown for fucking hours waiting for her to show up. so, of course, he’s paying extreme attention to her reaction to his efforts.

but everyone thinks jaime is hot, so it’s also understandable that he wouldn’t take that to mean that she actually likes him.

(he did want to make sure she knew he was hot, though.

he wanted. to make sure. she knew.)

now. if jaime finds out brienne was ready to die for him? well. he’s not an idiot. this whole thing could turn around real fast. so—

tl;dr - do i think jaime has any idea of brienne's affection for him during feast/dance?

his angst about her physical attraction to him is 0%

his angst about her emotional attraction to him is 100%

[as jaime has amply demonstrated, he is constitutionally incapable of taking her feelings for renly seriously and i doubt he’d start now]

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #asoiaf #anon #chicky gets anons #i don't have an ask tag just an anon tag #although this account is empty so probably more anon than anything

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

A Lion's Folly (the brave)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how the canon timeline and plot may be altered to suit this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18 + (for blood, gore, death, violence and suggestive themes)

- Previous part: sins

- Next part: absolution

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The days bleed into one another as the small group travels deeper into the wilderness, avoiding the main roads to evade prying eyes. The terrain grows rougher, with thick forests and uneven paths that force them to move slower. Jaime feels every ache in his body, but he keeps his complaints to himself. For once, his sharp tongue is tempered—not by fear, but by something far more unsettling: you.

You walk ahead of him, leading the way with Winter at your side. The direwolf pads silently, his coat blending into the pale underbrush. Every so often, Winter glances back at Jaime, his icy blue eyes filled with suspicion, as if he’s waiting for the slightest excuse to tear him apart. Jaime smirks faintly at the thought but knows better than to provoke the beast.

You’ve grown quieter as the days pass, your icy demeanor softening slightly into something more tolerable. You still don’t speak to him unless necessary, but the edge of your anger has dulled. Jaime doesn’t know if it’s because of exhaustion or sheer indifference, but he finds himself craving any scrap of interaction with you, no matter how small.

Brienne, ever the vigilant guardian, remains stoic and watchful, her eyes constantly scanning the woods. She speaks little, her focus unwavering as she ensures their path is safe.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, when you finally call for a stop.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” you say simply, gesturing to a small clearing nestled between thick trees.

Brienne nods and begins unpacking their limited supplies. Winter circles the clearing once before settling near you, his menacing gaze never leaving Jaime.

As the fire crackles to life, the three of you sit in a loose triangle around it, the silence thick and oppressive. Jaime leans back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, his smirk faint as he watches you tend to Winter.

“You’re remarkably silent tonight, my lady,” he says after a moment, his tone light but tinged with genuine curiosity.

You glance at him briefly, your expression unreadable. “Maybe you should follow my example,” you reply coolly.

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Ah, but silence doesn’t suit me. You should know that by now.”

Brienne sighs heavily, clearly tired of his antics, but doesn’t intervene.

“Tell me,” Jaime continues, his gaze lingering on you, “does it ever get easier? The grief?”

Your hand stills on Winter’s fur, and for a moment, the firelight reflects something raw in your eyes. “Why do you care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, though still guarded.

“I don’t,” Jaime admits, his smirk faltering slightly. “But I’ve seen enough grief to know it doesn’t fade. It just… changes shape.”

You don’t respond immediately, your fingers brushing absently through Winter’s fur as the firelight dances across your face. Finally, you speak, your voice low but steady. “It’s not something you’d understand, Lannister.”

“Maybe not,” Jaime replies, leaning forward slightly. “But I do know something about loss. About guilt.”

You meet his gaze then, your eyes cold and piercing. “Don’t talk to me about guilt. Not after what you’ve done.”

Jaime exhales, leaning back against the tree. “Fair enough,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches again, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant rustle of leaves. It’s Brienne who finally breaks it, her tone calm but firm. “We should rest. We’ll need to cover more ground tomorrow.”

You nod, rising to your feet and moving to check your gear. Winter follows, his presence a constant shadow at your side. Jaime watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can’t quite name.

As Brienne begins to settle in for the night, Jaime speaks again, his voice softer now. “You know, I always respected your father.”

Brienne looks up abruptly, but it’s you who turns first, your gaze hard and unforgiving.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice like steel.

Jaime doesn’t stop. “Ned Stark,” he continues, ignoring the warning in your eyes. “He was… honorable, to a fault. A rarity in men like us. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Your fists clench at your sides, but you don’t respond, your jaw tight.

“Do you think he’d approve of this?” Jaime asks, gesturing faintly to the group. “Of you traveling with the likes of me?”

Your voice is cold when you finally reply. “My father’s approval doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead. Because of men like you.”

Jaime swallows hard, your words cutting deeper than he expected. “You’re right,” he says after a long pause, his tone quieter now. “And if I could change it, I—”

“You can’t,” you snap, cutting him off. “So stop pretending like you care.”

The camp falls silent again, the animosity thick enough to choke. Jaime doesn’t speak after that, his gaze fixed on the fire as his own guilt festers inside him.

As the night deepens and the fire burns low, Jaime lays back against the tree, his eyes on the stars above. Your words echo in his mind, a constant reminder of the weight he carries.

And though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows you’re right. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Jaime sits near the smoldering remains of their morning fire, his hands still bound but his posture relaxed, watching Brienne as she meticulously checks her gear. You had left earlier with Winter to hunt, leaving the two of them behind.

Jaime finds the silence unbearable.

“Do you ever take that armor off, Brienne?” he drawls, tilting his head as he studies her. “Or is it part of you now? Perhaps it’s hiding something you’d rather keep a mystery.”

Brienne stiffens but doesn’t look at him. “You’ll find no amusement here, Lannister. Keep your mouth shut.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jaime presses, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re so stern all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting? Or is that how you woo the men of Tarth? With that charming scowl?”

Brienne finally looks at him, her blue eyes cold as ice. “You’ve made it clear you have no honor, Kingslayer. I see no need to engage with you further.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, but you already have. That’s the thing about you, Brienne—you care. Even when you shouldn’t. It’s admirable, really. Foolish, but admirable.”

Before Brienne can respond, a sound cuts through the stillness—a faint rustle in the underbrush. Brienne’s hand immediately moves to her sword, her keen gaze scanning the forest. Jaime stiffens, his smirk slipping as the noise grows louder.

Then they appear.

The Brave Companions emerge from the trees, their mismatched armor and cruel faces unmistakable. Vargo Hoat leads them, his twisted smile revealing his rotting teeth. The sight of him sends a chill down Jaime’s spine, though he hides it well.

“Well, well,” Vargo says, his voice grating as he steps forward. “What have we here? The Kingslayer himself, traveling with a lady knight. A curious pairing, no?”

Brienne rises to her full height, her sword drawn in an instant. “Leave, now. You’ll find no easy prey here.”

Vargo laughs, a sound that sends a ripple of unease through the forest. His men spread out, circling the clearing like wolves. Jaime counts at least a dozen, all armed and dangerous.

“You’re outnumbered,” Vargo says, his grin widening. “Put down your sword, woman, or we’ll take it—and your head—with it.”

Jaime watches the scene unfold, his mind racing. Brienne’s grip tightens on her sword, her stance unwavering, but even he knows the odds are against her.

“Brienne,” Jaime says quietly, his voice devoid of mockery for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

She doesn’t respond, her focus entirely on the men before her.

Jaime’s heart pounds in his chest, but not for himself. His thoughts turn to you, somewhere out in the forest with Winter. For the first time in a long while, Jaime finds himself praying—not to the gods, but to fate itself.

Stay away. Don’t come back. Don’t let them find you.

“Take him,” Vargo orders suddenly, gesturing toward Jaime. Two of his men step forward, their weapons drawn.

Jaime doesn’t resist as they grab him, though his smirk returns faintly. “You’ll regret this, goat,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

“We’ll see,” Vargo replies, his grin never faltering.

Brienne moves to intercept them, her sword flashing in the fading light. She takes down one man with ease, her movements precise and deadly. But the others close in quickly, overwhelming her with sheer numbers.

Jaime struggles against his captors, his chest tightening as Brienne is forced to her knees.

“Stop!” Vargo commands, and his men freeze. He steps closer to Brienne, his twisted grin widening. “You’ll fetch a fine price, woman. Perhaps even more than the Kingslayer.”

Jaime spits at Vargo’s feet, his voice sharp. “Touch her, and I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

Vargo laughs, clearly unfazed. “You’re in no position to make threats, Lannister.”

As the Brave Companions begin binding Brienne, Jaime’s thoughts return to you. He can only hope you’ve gone far enough into the forest to escape their notice.

Stay away, he thinks again, the words almost a plea. Don’t let them find you.

But the forest is silent, offering no assurances.

Jaime stumbles slightly as they march, his wrists raw and unsteady now that his hands are free from the chains that had bound them. His steps are slow and measured, but his gaze keeps darting to the dense tree line, scanning for any sign of you—or worse, Winter.

He doesn’t want you here. The thought of you stumbling into this chaos, of seeing you captured or worse, is unbearable. The sharp bite of fear twists in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

Behind him, Brienne trudges silently, her hands bound tightly, her face bruised but unbroken. The set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes tell Jaime that she hasn’t given up. Yet the odds are stacked against them, and even her famed strength feels like little more than a flickering candle against the storm that is Vargo Hoat and his band of butchers.

Vargo rides alongside them, his crooked smile ever-present. The sound of his grating voice breaks through the crunch of boots and hooves on the forest floor.

“Kingslayer,” Vargo calls, his tone mocking. “You look troubled. Perhaps you miss your father’s castle, eh?”

Jaime keeps his expression neutral, though his gaze remains fixed on the trees. “And what of it, goat? Are you taking me to him? I imagine Tywin Lannister would pay handsomely for his son’s safe return.”

Vargo lets out a harsh laugh, the sound as unpleasant as nails on stone. “Safe return? No, no, no. That is not our plan. Your father’s gold may be great, but there are others who will pay more for you—and her.”

Jaime glances over his shoulder at Brienne, who glares at Vargo with pure hatred.

“And who might that be?” Jaime asks, his voice tight.

“Lord Bolton,” Vargo replies, his grin widening. “He is very interested in the Kingslayer and his lady knight. He will reward us greatly for delivering you both to Harrenhal.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. Roose Bolton—a man whose reputation for cruelty and cunning rivaled even his father’s worst enemies. The news twists the knot in his stomach even tighter.

“Ah,” Jaime says, forcing a faint smirk despite the unease coursing through him. “So I’m to be handed over to a man who skins his enemies alive. Charming. I suppose this is my lucky day.”

Vargo chuckles again, clearly enjoying Jaime’s discomfort. “Lucky, yes. You will see what Lord Bolton has in store for you soon enough.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his mind racing as he considers their fate. The chances of escape seem slimmer with every step, and his thoughts inevitably circle back to you. Were you far enough away when the Brave Companions attacked? Did Winter sense the danger and keep you from returning?

“Kingslayer,” Vargo snaps suddenly, his gaze locking onto Jaime. “You keep looking at the trees. What are you so distracted by? Hoping for rescue?”

Jaime forces a laugh, though it rings hollow even to his own ears. “Rescue? Hardly. I’m just admiring the scenery. It’s not often I get to see the wilderness in all its… muddy glory.”

Vargo narrows his eyes, unconvinced. He leans forward in his saddle, studying Jaime with a calculating look. “You’re hiding something,” he says slowly, his grin fading into suspicion.

“I’m hiding nothing,” Jaime replies smoothly, though his hands clench involuntarily at his sides. “But if it keeps you entertained, feel free to keep guessing, goat.”

Vargo sneers, his gaze lingering on Jaime for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to the path ahead.

Behind him, Brienne speaks for the first time since their capture, her voice low but firm. “If you have a plan, Lannister, now would be the time to share it.”

Jaime glances back at her, his smirk returning faintly. “A plan? Do you think I’m hiding an army in these woods, waiting to spring us free?”

“You’re always scheming,” Brienne retorts, her blue eyes blazing. “Don’t play coy with me.”

Jaime exhales sharply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “The only plan I have,” he says quietly, his gaze drifting back to the trees, “is hoping she stays far away from this.”

Brienne frowns. “Don’t speak of her aloud.”

Jaime spoke no more. Instead, he focuses on the path ahead, the rhythmic crunch of their steps blending with the rustling of leaves.

As they march deeper into the forest, Jaime’s mind refuses to quiet. He can’t shake the image of you standing with your bow drawn, Winter at your side, ready to face down anyone who threatened you. The thought should bring him comfort, but instead, it fills him with dread.

Because if you came back, if you appeared now, Jaime knows there’s nothing he could do to protect you. And the thought of losing you—of watching you suffer because of him—feels like a fate worse than death.

The camp is eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of a meager fire and the occasional rustle of the trees in the cold night breeze. Vargo’s men lounge around the clearing, their mismatched armor shining faintly in the firelight. Jaime sits to one side, his hands resting on his knees, Brienne not far behind him. His body aches from the forced march, but his mind is clearer than ever, his senses heightened by the dread that hangs in the air.

Something feels wrong.

The first scream shatters the stillness.

It’s a guttural, panicked sound, cutting through the night like a blade. Everyone freezes, heads snapping toward the trees where the noise originated. The firelight dances on the faces of Vargo’s men, their expressions shifting from irritation to alarm.

“What was that?” one of them mutters, his hand already on his sword.

Before anyone can respond, a figure is dragged into the shadows with terrifying speed. The man lets out a blood-curdling scream, his body thrashing wildly as he disappears into the dark.

“Get up!” Vargo shouts, his voice alarmed as he jumps to his feet. “To arms!”

The camp erupts into chaos as the men scramble for their weapons, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Jaime watches, his heart pounding as he catches a fleeting glimpse of pale fur and glowing blue eyes in the shadows.

Winter.

“Seven hells,” Jaime breathes, his chest tightening.

Another scream pierces the night as a second man is attacked, his cries abruptly silenced by the sound of tearing flesh. The Brave Companions draw their weapons, but their fear is palpable, their movements clumsy.

“It’s a wolf!” one of them shouts, his voice trembling.

“No wolf is that big!” another yells back, his eyes wide with terror.

Winter moves like a ghost through the trees, his white and silver coat blending into the shadows as he strikes with lethal precision. Jaime can barely keep track of him, the direwolf’s speed and ferocity unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Vargo snarls, drawing his curved sword as he scans the darkness. “Kill it! Kill the beast!”

Before anyone can act, an arrow whistles through the air, striking one of the men in the throat. He gurgles, collapsing to the ground as blood pools beneath him.

“Archer!” someone shouts, pointing wildly toward the trees.

Another arrow flies, finding its mark in a second man’s chest. He stumbles backward, clutching at the shaft before crumpling to the ground.

Jaime’s breath catches as he realizes what’s happening. It’s not just Winter—it’s you.

A third arrow claims another victim, the chaos escalating as the Brave Companions break formation, rushing blindly into the woods in search of their unseen attacker.

“Stay together, you fools!” Vargo roars, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jaime’s eyes dart to the treeline, his heart racing. He knows you’re out there, somewhere in the shadows, and the thought both thrills and terrifies him.

Another scream echoes through the forest as Winter attacks again, his massive form taking down another man with ruthless efficiency. The clearing is now a mess of blood, bodies, and panicked shouting, the Brave Companions falling apart under the assault.

And then he sees you.

You step into the clearing, your bow in hand, your face illuminated by the flickering firelight. There’s a fierce determination in your eyes, your movements swift and precise as you draw another arrow.

“Y/N!” Jaime calls out before he can stop himself, his voice cutting through the noise.

Your gaze flicks to him for the briefest moment, your expression unreadable. But it’s enough of a distraction for Vargo to strike.

He lunges forward, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you back with surprising speed. Your bow clatters to the ground as you struggle against his grip, your face twisting in anger.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice raw with fury.

Winter lets out a deep, guttural growl, his eyes locked on you as he moves to attack.

“No!” you scream, your voice desperate. “Run, Winter! Go!”

The direwolf hesitates, his massive form still and tense as he watches you.

“Run!” you shout again, tears glinting in your eyes as you thrash against Vargo’s hold.

Winter snarls once more, his gaze flicking between you and the Brave Companions before he turns and disappears into the trees, his silver form vanishing like a ghost.

“No,” Jaime mutters under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. He steps forward, but two of Vargo’s men grab him, holding him back.

“Enough!” Vargo snaps, his grip on you tightening. “The wolf is gone. And now we have her.”

Your breathing is ragged, your face pale but defiant as you glare up at him. “You won’t get away with this,” you say through gritted teeth.

Vargo laughs, the sound cruel and grating. “Oh, my dear, I already have.”

Jaime’s chest burns with fury and frustration as he watches you struggle, his mind racing for a way to intervene. But with his hands unbound and his guards distracted, he knows his moment will come.

For now, all he can do is watch as Vargo drags you with him.

The clearing is chaos. The fire crackles weakly, casting jagged specters over the carnage of bodies and blood. Vargo Hoat holds you firmly by the arm, his sickly grin widening as his men begin to realize just who he has captured. You continue to struggle against him, your breath ragged, but the defiance in your eyes burns brighter than the flames.

“Well, well,” Vargo sneers, his voice grating like steel on stone. “We’ve caught ourselves a Stark. A fine prize indeed. Imagine the price your brother will pay to get you back.”

Your struggles intensify, and in one sudden, vicious movement, you lunge forward and sink your teeth into the side of Vargo’s neck. The sickening crunch of flesh giving way is followed by a howl of pain as blood pours from the wound.

“You little bitch!” Vargo roars, shoving you back with such force that you stumble. He lifts his hand and strikes you across the face with a brutal slap that echoes through the clearing.

Jaime’s breath catches, his body going numb as you fall to your knees, clutching your cheek. Fury surges through him, hot and unrelenting.

“Get her in line!” Vargo snarls, his eyes wild as he presses a hand to the bleeding wound on his neck. “Or I’ll do it myself!” His next words drip with malice, his voice lowering. “Maybe a night in my tent will teach her some manners.”

Brienne struggles against the two men holding her, her teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You dare harm her, and I will kill you, goat!”

Vargo laughs, a twisted sound filled with cruelty. “You’re in no position to make threats, wench. But perhaps you’d like to join her. I hear the women of Tarth are… sturdy.”

Jaime’s patience snaps.

“That,” Jaime says suddenly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “would be a very bad idea.”

Vargo turns to him, his eyes narrowing. “And why is that, Kingslayer?”

Jaime steps forward, his posture deceptively relaxed, though his smirk carries a dangerous edge. “Because she’s a Stark, you imbecile. Do you have any idea what Robb Stark will do if he hears you’ve so much as touched her? Let me enlighten you: he’ll behead every single one of your men. And you? He’ll save you for last. Maybe he’ll even let his direwolf eat you piece by piece.”

Vargo’s expression falters for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes before he sneers. “You think I fear the boy king in the North?”

“You should,” Jaime replies coldly. “The Starks are known for their vengeance. And trust me, you don’t want to find out just how far they’ll go for one of their own.”

The men around Vargo exchange uneasy glances, the weight of Jaime’s words sinking in. Even the most hardened among them seem to hesitate, their weapons lowering slightly.

Vargo hesitates, his eyes darting between Jaime and you. Finally, he lets out a growl of frustration, shoving you roughly to the ground.

“Fine,” he snarls, spitting blood onto the ground. “But keep her quiet. And if she causes any more trouble, she’ll regret it.”

Jaime moves to your side, kneeling as he places himself between you and Vargo. He doesn’t reach out to you—he knows you wouldn’t welcome it—but his presence is a silent reassurance.

“You’ll regret it if you touch her again,” Jaime says evenly, his voice low but filled with venom.

Vargo sneers but doesn’t reply, turning away to bark orders at his men. The tension in the clearing lessens slightly, though the atmosphere remains charged.

Jaime glances at you, your face pale but your eyes still burning with defiance. Blood trickles from your lip where Vargo’s slap split the skin, but you refuse to show weakness.

“You’re insane,” Jaime mutters, his tone somewhere between admiration and frustration.

“And you’re pathetic,” you snap back, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. “Don’t think this changes anything, Lannister.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Brienne is finally released, her captors stepping back as she moves to stand beside Jaime and you. Her gaze flicks between you, Jaime, and the others, her grip on her sword tight.

“We need a plan,” she says quietly, her voice calm but urgent.

Jaime nods, his mind already racing. He doesn’t know how they’ll escape this mess, but one thing is certain: he’ll ensure you make it out alive, no matter the cost.

Because for the first time in years, Jaime Lannister feels something he thought he’d lost—a flicker of honor. And he’s not about to let it die here.

The camp has grown quiet, the earlier chaos fading into an uneasy stillness. The Brave Companions, though brutal, are not fools; they’ve doubled their watch, their muttered conversations filled with unease as they huddle around the dying fire. The woods seem to press closer, the shadows deep and impenetrable, a eerie reminder of the blood spilled earlier.

Jaime sits near the edge of the clearing, his back against a tree, his body aching but unbroken. His hands, though unbound, rest loosely on his knees, and he watches as Brienne, bruised but defiant, is seated under close guard across from him. Her eyes flick toward him briefly before returning to her captors, her posture one of quiet vigilance.

And then there’s you.

You sit a short distance away, your arms wrapped around your knees as if trying to keep yourself steady. Your face is pale, the faint bruise from Vargo’s slap barely visible in the dim firelight. Winter is nowhere to be seen, and Jaime wonders if the direwolf is still close, lurking just beyond the camp’s edge.

When you glance toward Brienne, your expression tightens, your gaze lingering on the bonds that hold her before finally shifting to Jaime. For a moment, you simply study him, your eyes narrowed in thought. Then you speak, your voice quiet but firm.

“Are you unharmed?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you cared, my lady.”

You scoff, the sound cold and unimpressed. “I don’t. But you need to remain intact. If you’re not returned to the capital, my sisters won’t be returned safely. That’s the only reason I asked.”

Jaime chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. “Ah, of course. My worth as a bargaining chip. Good to know where I stand.”

Your expression hardens, and you look away, your focus shifting to the forest beyond. “Just answer the question, Lannister.”

“I’m fine,” Jaime replies, his tone more serious now. “Though I can’t say the same for your goat friend. You left quite the impression on him.”

You don’t smile, though there’s a flicker of satisfaction in your eyes. “He deserved worse.”

Jaime nods slightly, his gaze steady on you. “That he did.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space between you. Then Jaime speaks again, his voice quieter now.

“They’re taking us to Harrenhal,” he says, his smirk fading. “By any luck, Tywin will be there. Along with your dear friend Roose Bolton.”

Your head snaps toward him, alarm flashing across your face. “Bolton?”

Jaime tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Yes. Apparently, Vargo thinks Lord Bolton has some interest in us. I suppose he sees an opportunity to curry favor with both sides.”

Your brow furrows, your mind clearly racing. “Bolton is my brother’s bannerman,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion and disbelief. “What business would he have with Tywin Lannister?”

Jaime shrugs, though his eyes don’t leave you. “That’s the question, isn’t it? But if I were you, I’d start asking why one of Robb’s trusted men is even speaking to my father in the first place.”

The realization hits you like a physical blow, your eyes widening as the pieces begin to fall into place. You mutter something under your breath, too quiet for Jaime to hear, before clenching your fists at your sides.

“I have to warn Robb,” you say suddenly, your voice low but urgent.

Jaime watches you carefully, his smirk returning faintly. “And how do you plan to do that, my lady? You’re a prisoner now, in case you’ve forgotten.”

You glare at him, your jaw tight. “I’ll find a way.”

Brienne, who has been listening silently, finally speaks, her voice steady. “If what he says is true, your brother must be told. The Boltons have always been… different. But this would be treason of the highest order.”

“Treason?” Jaime interjects, his tone almost amused. “Such a quaint word. Let’s call it what it is: survival. Roose Bolton knows how this war will end. He’s simply choosing the winning side.”

You rise to your feet abruptly, pacing a short distance away as your thoughts churn. Jaime watches you closely, noting the hesitation in your movements, the fire in your eyes.

“I won’t let him betray my family,” you say finally, your voice firm.

Jaime leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “And what exactly will you do, Stark? You’re in no position to stop him. Neither am I, for that matter.”

You stop pacing, turning to face him with a glare that could cut through steel. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lannister. You might not care about honor or loyalty, but I do. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

Jaime holds your gaze, his smirk fading as he sees the resolve burning in your eyes. He feels a flicker of something unfamiliar—respect.

“Well,” he says quietly, leaning back against the tree once more, “then I suppose you’d better start planning, my lady. Because if we reach Harrenhal, it might already be too late.”

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t respond. Instead, you return to your place by the fire, your eyes fixed on the flames as your mind works tirelessly.

Jaime watches you in silence, the weight of your determination settling over him like a storm cloud. And he finds himself wondering if perhaps there’s still a way out of this mess—if not for him, then for you.

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creature-wizard · 5 months ago

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Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

#scams #hoaxes #cults #conspiracy theories #pseudoscience #quackery #history

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aemondsbabe · 9 months ago

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From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise.

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass.

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept.

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed.

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor.

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her.

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee.

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband.

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage.

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.”

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne.

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them.

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions.

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…”

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear.

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?”

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.”

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.”

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister.

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance.

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.”

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections.

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin.

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet.

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat.

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red.

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do.

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows.

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens.

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum.

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places.

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek.

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet.

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine.

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons.

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast.

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement.

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks.

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now.

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife.

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle.

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets.

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity.

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?”

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.”

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.”

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.”

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.”

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling.

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly.

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.”

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight.

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile.

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.”

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue.

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

“Pretend?”

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things.

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips.

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm.

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip.

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw.

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter.

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds.

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him.

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him.

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought.

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.”

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in.

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further.

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it.

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length.

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his.

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain.

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway.

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you.

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber.

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…”

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns.

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end.

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you.

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips.

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery.

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine.

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire.

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening.

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing.

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name.

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors.

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better.

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure.

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.”

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no.

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him.

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices.

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes.

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.”

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod.

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him.

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines.

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted.

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes.

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair.

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue.

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you.

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation.

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him.

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him.

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

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llonelygoddess · 1 year ago

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How they react to...Finding out you're pregnant

Romantic Pairings: Ned Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy, Jaime Lannister, Khal Drogo, Jorah Mormont, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei, Podrick, Gendry

Ned Stark: This man is over the moon when you tell him you’re expecting. He’s raised 5 already but for you he’d raise another 5 if possible lol He’s always got his hands on your belly and asking if you need anything. His favorite thing to do is talking to the baby later at night when you’re asleep, whispering how much it’ll be loved and cared for by the both of you.

Margaery Tyrell: Thrilled. You two definitely planned this pregnancy so she’s thrilled to hear you’ve finally conceived. She’s keeping Maesters around the clock just for you and making sure you have regular check ups. You both love looking at all the fabrics and books and toys you’ll be gifting your baby. She wants this child to have everything she had and more, so beware your child may be spoiled rotten lol

Pre Reek!Theon Greyjoy: Theon doesn’t even know what to say. He’s nervous about what that would mean for you and the child title wise. Would the babe be labeled a bastard? Would you be treated as a whore? The questions will drive him crazy if you don’t bring him back down to earth. As much as he’s there for you, you have to be there for him during this time.

Jaime Lannister: In the beginning he’s more worried than anything. Knowing how crazy Cersei is he has to hide you away, promising to be with you soon. Once he finds a way to sneak away to you for good, he’s all hands on deck. He’d learn to cook a bit, take up the cleaning, even learn to stitch a little to give the baby an embroidered blanket. It’s not what you expected but considering his other kids barely know him it makes sense how serious he is about this one. He wants to get it right this time.

Khal Drogo: He sees you as his goddess, mesmerized with the way you carry his child. He kisses your belly and announces it to the whole Khalasar. During your pregnancy he doesn’t baby you, finding beauty in your strength, but he is wary of you being around the other men. They’re rough and callous and you are soft and breakable, something that keeps him up at night. Whenever he goes out riding he always comes back with a gift that he presents to you in front of everyone.

Jorah Mormont: He never thought he’d be lucky enough to have children, especially with someone as special as you. He’s definitely crying when he hears the news. He can’t help it, a family of his own is all he’s ever wanted. Even knowing how strong you are, he’ll ask you to stay home and to let him do any and all work that needs to be done. He’s heard horror stories of pregnancies going wrong and he refuses to let anything happen to you.

Brienne of Tarth: Finding out you're pregnant would be the scariest moment of her life. Which isn't to say she doesn't want kids, but the world you live in wasn't ready for a relationship like yours. Two non-men finding love within each other wasn't accepted, let alone them raising a child together. Eventually, through many talks with you and Podrick, she calms down enough to enjoy this special moment in time with you.

Missandei: When Missandei first finds out, she's immediately in preparation mode. With the life she's lived she knows how cruel and evil life can be, so she takes it upon herself to make everything as perfect for you and the babe as possible. She’s asking Danaerys for healers and compiling blankets and toys from nearby towns. You’ll want for nothing with her by your side. When she’s not in crisis mode she’s sitting with you in bed fantasizing about the languages and history she’ll teach the baby.

Podrick: He gets so overwhelmed when you tell him he faints. Poor bb. When he wakes he asks if it was a dream and when you tell him no he kisses you. He’s another one that never really thought about having a family but he’s more than ready and capable of doing it. He’s always gushing about you and the baby to Brienne or really anyone who’ll listen. Loves to put his ear to your belly and just listen.

Gendry: He never planned to have kids so young, but when you told him about the baby he realized this was his moment to step up and be better. Being a Lord now he’s able to take care of you in ways he never thought he could. Giving you a handmaid and guards is just the beginning of how he wants to support you. He worries all nine months about whether he'll be good enough for your babe, so please rub his back and tell him he'll be the best dad ever. And he will.

#game of thrones preferences #game of thrones #game of thrones headccanons #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #ned stark x reader #margaery tyrell x reader #khal drogo x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #gendry x reader #podrick x reader #missandei x reader #jorah mormont x reader #jaime lannister #theon greyjoy x reader #got x reader #got fanfiction #got #got headcanons

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starsofjewels · 3 months ago

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hi! first, i love your writing, it's so good! also, i loved your oneshot about the autistic lannister reader so much, it was so relatable🥺 can we get another part (or not following specifically, just the reader being autistic) but focused on their relationship with tywin, please? tysm!

The Weakness of Tywin Lannister

Tywin Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! (daughter) Reader

CONTENT: Canonical! Character death (Joanna), mentions of abortion (Joanna), genereal mistreatment of Tyrion, meltdown(s)

Tywin is a warning in himself, Viserys (3) and Joffrey are mentioned in like a line each, so prepare for that too

1.2k words (smol)

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Welcome all to the November update. I'm alive, I'm fairly well and I can't believe I'm getting traction.

Thank you to all your requests, I'm going through them atm this one just- Spoke to me.

I wrote this in a free hour instead of studying, so we'll see what happens.

Live, laugh, Tywin.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

When Joanna dies, Tywin doubts he will find another love so pure, so completely genuine, that it could even scratch the expectations his wife leaves behind. He is not a man of much integrity or kindness, but he loved his wife. Most men are not fortunate enough to have a wife who loved them, and without it, there is not much to do.

But it is not your fault, no. You are an angel, a gift from your mother to him. He should have known Joanna was not strong enough to bear another child, he knows he should have forced Moon Tea down her throat and held her as she bled. Even the cats knew she couldn’t recover from the birth. But, it is not your fault.

The staff expect you to share Tyrion’s rooms, to have another child that is neither spoken to nor visited by their father; Tyrion the imperfect, and the new baby who killed their mother. Instead, Tywin appears himself, and carries the cradle prepared for you from the family rooms right up to the master bedroom. Your nurse is instructed to only appear when you need to be fed, he will handle you.

Tywin realises, nearly immediately, that you are a different sort of child. You are quiet and sweet, you never cry or complain, even as you phase from infancy into childhood, there is nothing, truly, that upsets you. There is a confidence within you, a chubby, blonde toddler running about the halls with an ornate horse in one hand, and the Hand of the King cautiously trailing behind. He has other work to do, but nothing as important as taking care of his sweet one.

You return to Casterly Rock, your bloodland, when you are five- Nearly six, you say. Jaime and Cersei stay behind in the Red Keep, one married and the other draped in white cloth. You don’t quite understand where your playmate, little Viserys, has gone to, but your father tells you not to ask, and you’ll do just about anything he says.

If there is one instance Tywin could point to the actual realisation that something was amiss, it would be the first weeks he spends with you in Casterly Rock. You have been nothing but calm, and sweet, but here, you break. Hours of crying, refusing to eat or sleep, the maesters assure him you are not ill, and yet you tantrum constantly, for seemingly no reason at all. He figures it out eventually, of course, one of your toys was lost in the journey, a ragdoll with no real significance or extraordinary features. But it was yours and you wanted it, so another was commissioned for you, and although you complain that it is ‘different’, you are seven, and the story that she holidayed in the Reach is convincing enough to shut you up. Tywin learns that day to keep a spare of anything he sees you playing with.

The nurses tell him all children are fussy, the oldest of them, the one to nurse Genna and his youngest brothers, can recall a time in which he himself would wear only red, and for about a week would only sleep in a makeshift fort out in the yard with Kevan; that was, until a winter set in, and the gates were locked at night to keep them from getting out and freezing to death, but there is something within him that says your behaviour is different to the frivolities of youth.

He enjoys your company, as you grow into a delicate young woman. You are unmediated, fresh, in a sense that most are not. You could speak to a king the way you would a peasant, and vice versa. Tywin is there to look after you, to hold your hand and keep you out of harm’s way, and his years of service to Casterly Rock with just you at his side, and Tyrion when he emerges from the brothels, are memories which nothing can besmirch.

And then his grandson is put to the throne, and life collapses once again. There is war, and chaos in every part of the Kingdoms, five kings stake a claim to iron, or to salt, and Tywin Lannister is once again Hand of the King. Your little dog is by his side, a little spaniel, or some other feminine dog breed, lazy as sin one moment and destroying the place the next. It reminds him of you. He can’t quite remember its name: Winnie, or Wobbles, or something equally ridiculous. Tywin feeds it scraps of mutton from his plate, he won’t tell you he’s feeding it.

“Papa?”

He stands immediately, and rushes to your side. You are practically shaking, with big eyes and frighteningly pale skin. Tywin has seen this many times, and it hurts him every one of them. Even with the life of a princess, you can still find ways to be terribly upset,

“I can’t find Waldred.”

Waldred. That was the damned thing’s name, he knew it was something stupid. He sighs, and travels around his desk, lifting the spaniel up and putting it into your arms. For how lazy it was, the beast was surprisingly light. Usually, you laugh. Today you cry harder. Waldred is put back down, and he takes you onto his knee. The dog doesn’t do very much to assist the situation, he turns himself around and flops over Tywin’s feet, huffing at the inconvenience. He lets you cry, until you start coughing and spluttering, and you are instructed to calm down. He has learned that he can’t be firm with you, you think it a display of anger when there is none.

“I-” When you are ready to speak again, he sets you onto the couch beneath you, “I thought I lost him- I looked everywhere, it’s past his walk time.”

Waldred hears the word ‘walk’ and dramatically flips over, not very keen. Any normal dog would be jumping about the place in anticipation, this one now resembled more of a furry ball than it did an animal.

Tywin will not question why you were so upset about potentially losing your animal, he knows how much you adore your little dog, and nor will he mention that the thing hasn’t been unsupervised a day in its life. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Waldred is probably more guarded than you are. The lazy beast hasn’t left the Tower of the Hand unless it was carried, and even then it complains. Sometimes he wonders why he bought it for you in the first place.

He sees how the courts treat you, how Joffrey tries near constantly to publicly humiliate your oddities, and how the ladies of his elder daughter’s court leave you entirely on your own, he actually doesn’t know if you even have friends, apart from the dog, and potentially Varys. It doesn’t matter anyways, you are his and his only, and there is no-one but the Gods and a small list of possible suitors for you that will get in his way.

#tywin lannister x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #game of thrones x y/n #got #tywin lannister #house lannister x reader #lannister x reader #if you want to call this a prequel to Kitty Cat you can #But I didn't necessarily write it as one #Waldred the dog is an icon

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inbloomwriting · 1 month ago

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Everything to me - Chapter 3

Chapter three - Raspberry

Chapter 1 II Chapter 2

Plot: Jamie Tartt is a lot of things: professional footballer, the island's top scorer .... sexually, extremly handsome. But one thing he never saw himself as was a dad. Too bad he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions. This fic follows reader and Jamie as they navigate life and turn from practially strangers to parents. Pairing: Jaime Tartt x female reader Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, slight mention of sexual intimacy (nothing graphic), strained/toxic parental relationship Notes: I do not have a set uploading schedule. Please bear with me as I work on this story. I know hardly anything about pregnancy, all my information comes from google. Sorry it took so long to update this. I tagged everyone who showed interest in future parts and/or asked to be tagged. Please let me know if you want to be taken off or added to the taglist. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

Jamie sleeps like a rock. It’s a new discovery for (Y/N) as she tries to unravel herself from his tight grip. She doesn’t remember falling asleep cuddled up to each other, in fact, she doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. It’s like one moment they were talking about the baby and the next she wakes up to the sun pouring in through the window and Jamie’s quiet snores filling the room. And his arms wrapped around her like a vice.

God that man is clingy.

And, whereas with any other man, this would scare her off, there is something about Jamie that makes the whole thing endearing.

Maybe it’s the fact that they are not dating, not even trying to. It takes some of the pressure off. All she has to be is a good mum and a good friend and while those two things are hard enough as they are, at least there are no romantic feelings involved, no expectations to uphold when it comes to being a girlfriend, a partner.

Jamie sleeps like a rock, doesn’t even so much as twitch when she slips from his grip and rests his arm back on the side of the bed she used to occupy just moments earlier. Even the squeaky floorboard doesn’t wake him as she makes her way downstairs.

A sweet smell permeates the air and makes (Y/N)’s mouth water. This heightened sense of smell is both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse. Most smells make her nauseous these days. Not today though, this one just makes her hungry. It smells of sugar and vanilla and all things sweet and warm.

Simon’s smiling face greets her as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. She wonders if this man ever stops smiling. He’s the personification of a ray of sunshine.

“Good morning, come have a seat. I’m making waffles.”

Waffles. (Y/N) can’t remember the last time someone made her waffles for breakfast. Dad did, sometimes when she was little, and stayed with him for the weekend. But then the waffle iron broke and he never got around to buying a new one. So pancakes and bacon it was. Beans sometimes. Sausages if he was feeling particularly fancy.

“I’d love some, thank you! It smells amazing.”

“Yeah? Oh, thank god. I was afraid the smell would be too much and make you feel sick. Only realized that after I poured in half the vial of vanilla essence though.”

The sheepish look on his face puts a smile on (Y/N)’s face. It’s nice someone cares about those little things.

“Never had to deal with anyone pregnant so I don’t know these things but I had a quick Google last night and it says 8 weeks means a heightened sense of smell. Also, the baby is the size of a Raspberry.”

If she didn’t know any better, (Y/N) would swear that Jamie and Simon must share some DNA. Both of them so clumsy in the way they care but infinitely endearing.

“Yeah, Raspberry or Blueberry or Kidney Bean. So tiny."

“Crazy isn’t it? To think it’s gonna be a proper human soon enough.”

She nods her head in agreement as Simon places a plate stacked with two thick fluffy waffles before her.

“You’re telling me. I know this is all happening inside my body and it’s still insane to think about. Doesn’t feel real.”

Simon regards her with soft eyes. There is warmth in there but something else. Something she can’t quite place. Georgie had the same look last night. Like they know more than she does. And fuck, maybe they do. They’ve done this before. Lived enough of life to know what the hell they are doing.

“Are you alright? “

(Y/N) was never big on sharing her feelings with anyone, let alone strangers. Life, and both her parents really, have taught her that talking about your feelings only makes you vulnerable. And being vulnerable usually ends in pain. So what you do is you take your insecurities, your fears, your sadness and you put it in a tiny little box and then you put on the lid. You tie a ribbon around it with a neat bow on top and then you take that box that holds your feelings and you bury it. And then you spend your whole life living like the protagonist in an Edgar Allan Poe story and that box becomes a beating heart under the floorboards of your life.

And the beating never ever stops.

“Sure. I’m good.”

She thinks he knows she’s bluffing but lets it go anyway. Opening up to Jamie is scary enough, takes up enough of her bravery. Simon is lovely and if she was another person altogether she’d love to share her worries with him, he seems like the best listener. She’s not someone else though, she is just herself and she can’t bring herself to talk.

“Okay. Just want you to know that if you need anything or — anyone. Georgie and I are always there to help. I know I’m not Jamie’s real dad but I do feel like that is my son. I don’t have children of my own and I only met Jamie when he was a pre-teen already so I don’t know much about babies but if you guys let me I am sure I can be a phenomenal grandad. My mum always used to say I was already born a little old man so this feels like I finally get a chance to be what I was always supposed to be. My time to shine has come.”

A harmony of their laughter fills the kitchen. God, is this whole family made up of the sweetest people on this entire planet? Do they make them in a damn factory or something?

“I will hold you to it. When the baby is screaming and I need some sleep I’ll come drop them off with you then.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready with some bedtime stories and lullabies.”

“You are sweet, Simon. And I really appreciate the offer. God knows Jamie and I don’t know the first thing about being parents so we can take all the help we can get.”

“Do you want to hear a secret?”

“Sure.”

“No one knows what they’re doing. As long as you try your best that’s all that matters. Kids are forgiving if they know you care.”

People always say that but there’s a little part of (Y/N) that believes those words to be untrue. Did her mum try her best and this was the outcome? Or did she just not care to do more, to be better? And which of those scenarios would be worse?

Jamie’s sleepy voice pulls her from her spiraling thoughts. “Morning, love.”

He places a soft kiss on the top of her head. So sure, so unbothered as if they do this all the time. Is this what it feels like? Being able to show your feelings and show affection without wondering what consequences it may bring? Without fearing that it makes you too vulnerable?

His hand finds her stomach and gives it a soft rub “And good morning to you, baby.”

It will never not be endearing to her to hear him talk to the baby. And neither will the way he pronounces the word ever lose its magic to her. That is his pride and joy there. His babeh.

“Aw Waffles, sweet!”

As Jamie plops down next to Simon and stuffs his face with vanilla waffles, leaving a slight dust of powdered sugar on his lips, (Y/N) is certain that all his worries are unjustified.

Jamie is all his dad and none of his father. Every inch and every fiber of him is a product of the love that Georgie and Simon have raised him with. He is them in the way he smiles and cares and the way he feels joy so freely and unabashedly.

And if only a smidge, only a sprinkle of that love is extended towards her child, that kid is gonna grow up so adored it won’t know where to put all of that love.

“Think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Like pregnancy barf or meeting mum nausea? “

Leave it to Jamie to put a smile on her face even when the world around her seems to crumble and fall.

“You gotta stop calling it that.”

“Alright, but you have to tell me which one it is so I know if I should hand you a barf bag or give you a pep talk. I’m getting awfully good at them if I dare say so myself. Learned a lot from Ted, yeah?”

If this was just the pregnancy making her nauseous everything would be so much easier. Ginger drops and rest would do the trick. But this is so much worse. This sharp feeling cursing through her veins, gnawing at her bones and devouring her like a hungry wolf. There truly is no one capable of breaking your heart like your own mother.

“Let me hear that pep talk then.”

As he navigates the car up the long driveway, flanked by big ornate mansions with brass iron fences and perfectly symmetrical hedges, Jamie regards (Y/N) from the corner of his eyes.

“Okay, well you don’t need to worry. Things are gonna be just fine. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause mums love me and middle-aged women love me. It’s cause they think I’m charming,” he says and glances at (Y/N) for a second. That radiant cheeky smile of his taking over his features. Oh, she hopes their kid gets his smile. “Which I am.”

“So charming, really.”

“You’d know,” Jamie replies and nods his head in the direction of her belly.

His laughter echoes through the car as she gives him a soft slap against the shoulder. There’s just something about Jamie that makes life feel a little lighter, a little more effortless. Even if it's just for a moment, just pretend. It does take the heavy weight off of (Y/N)’s heart for a second.

The car rolls to a stop in front of the gorgeous white house (Y/N) pointed out to him when they turned into the street. The lawn looks immaculate, the hedges are trimmed to perfection. This plastic palace all grand and gaudy. It never felt like home even though (Y/N) spent most of her life growing up in these very halls.

But really what is it that makes a house a home? Love and laughter and memories you want to return to. This is just four walls and a roof.

“Hey,” Jamie speaks up and places a hand gently on hers. “It’ll be alright but even if it won’t it will.”

“Huh?”

“I mean — look if she reacts badly, that sucks. But you have me, yeah? Always. Me and Rebecca and my Mum and Simon. Once we tell them I know the team will be obsessed with our baby, they’ll love her so much.”

“Or him.”

“Or him, yes. Ted is going to freak out, I know he’s going to want to hang out with our kid all the time. Roy? He’s already the best old geriatric uncle the world has ever seen. He won’t admit it but he’ll be really happy for us. Sam, Issac, Keeley, Higgins? All of them will be just a call away if we need help. I’m not sure about coach Beard though, he scares me not gonna lie.”

“I think he’s hilarious actually.”

“It’s because you’re smart and understand his jokes.”

“You’re smart too!”

“Nah, I just talk a lot and hope I end up saying the right thing. Anyway, what I mean is, this is your mum, yes, but in the big picture, she is just one person. And if she doesn’t love our baby there are so many other people who will. This baby will never, not for one second have to wonder if they are loved, because they are. So much.”

And as easy as it is for him to make (Y/N) laugh, as easy it seems to be to make her cry. Good tears though. Tears that say “I believe you that things are going to be alright”. Tears that say “thank you.”

“Jamie Tartt, of all the footballers that could’ve accidentally knocked me up, I am so glad it was you. You are going to be the best dad.”

“And you’re already the best mum. Well tied with my mum, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

(Y/N)’s childhood home feels cold, Jamie notices. There are hardly any pictures and those that are there are posed and awkward. He can tell it’s (Y/N) on those pictures but they don’t feel like her. There is no happiness in them, no joy. None of that sarcastic charm she exudes. He passes by a lifetime of being told how to sit and how to smile and what to do and probably what to say as well. It makes him feel miserable. And it puts things into perspective. It makes sense now, her worries and fears. If you grow up surrounded by nothing but the cold you eventually start wondering if you’ll ever be capable of creating warmth.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” (Y/N)'s Mum asks as she sits down at the head of the table. There’s something scary about this woman. She demands attention like a god-given right. She extends nothing in return. Her eyes are sharp and intense. It makes Jamie feel like she can see right through him down to all his insecurities and faults. She’s fucking terrifying.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He hates the way (Y/N)’s voice has become so small and timid ever since they stepped foot into this mansion. Hates that there is nothing he can do to make it better and take this weight off of her. Nothing but be there. So he does that at least. Be there in all the ways he can be.

It’s so silly really, how his heart beats just a little faster when he touches her hand underneath the table. When she welcomes the soft gesture. When she returns his gentle squeeze. And when she links her fingers with his.

So silly. Stupid little treacherous heart.

“Well, I gathered that much. I just wish you would’ve called ahead of time so I could’ve made some food.”

“Made some food? Since when do you cook?”

The look her mother throws at (Y/N) could freeze a lake solid. It’s mean and chilling and Jamie wishes he never would’ve pushed (Y/N) to come here. Hates himself a little for putting her in this situation.

“I did attend several cooking classes last year. See, if you’d visit me a bit more often you’d know that.”

And if she wasn’t such a raging bitch, maybe (Y/N) would visit her more often, Jamie thinks. Fortunately, he’s gotten much better at impulse control lately, well ever since Ted arrived really. The old Jamie would’ve blurted out those thoughts with no care of any consequences.

The old Jamie probably wouldn’t have stepped up to be a dad though.

“Anyway, I would’ve liked a little warning. Especially if you’re bringing someone.”

Being at the receiving end of that icy glare feels awful, Jamie decides as (Y/N)’s mother regards him with a mix of disdain and humor. Her eyes sparkle with a sense of smug superiority. Jamie is used to people underestimating him. They think he’s stupid. Some dumb footballer with straw filling the places where a brain should be. Quite honestly it doesn’t bother him, never had. He’s the first to admit that he can be dumb when it comes to certain things. He’s no poet and he has never been particularly good at math. But this woman and the way she looks at him rubs him the wrong way. She knows nothing about him and yet she thinks she’s got him all figured out. Flesh and bones and all.

“Yeah uh, sorry about that. It was a spontaneous thing really. We would’ve called — “

“Sure, whatever you say. James was it?”

His name sounds like venom dripping from her lips. James. He hasn’t been James since the moment he was born and Georgie first kissed his tiny head and whispered “You’re my little Jamie.” Not that he remembers that but it’s a story his mom has recounted to him many times.

“Jamie, yes.”

“Right, Jamie.”

An uncomfortable silence settles upon the room. It crawls into the cracks and crevices of their conversation. It spreads and festers and discomfort grows around them like mold on damp walls.

“Mum, we’re here because I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant.”

The confession shoots through the silence like a bullet. Cuts through it like a knife through a flimsy ribbon. If this was a movie they’d put in a freeze frame or underlay the scene with some dramatic musical score. But this is real life and it comes with no editing and no soundtrack.

No, it just comes with a bellowing laugh from (Y/N)’s mother. It’s not the kind of laughter that makes you want to laugh along. The kind that makes you feel like sunshine has erupted inside your ribcage and wraps you in a warm blanket. It’s not like (Y/N)’s laugh. This one is mocking. It’s ridiculous. It’s meant to make you feel small and dumb. It breaks his heart to know this is the laughter (Y/N) grew up with.

“You can not be serious. Pregnant?”

A short, quiet “Yes.” leaves (Y/N)’s lips. Jamie gently squeezes her hand in return. I am here. He says. I will always be here. She squeezes back. He hopes it means “I know.”

“You stupid little girl.”

(Y/N)’s hand grabs his more tightly. A lifeline to hold on to. Crescent moon shapes stamped into his skin. But if this is the price he’ll have to pay in order to be a good partner in all of this then he’ll pay it 10 times over. Of all the things in this world, all the ways to describe her, stupid is not one Jamie would ever think of.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that.”

Maybe a little bit of old Jamie is still there. The good parts. The protective, opinionated parts maybe. Not reckless but brave.

“She is my daughter and I will talk to her as I very well please. But you’re right. She is not a little girl, she’s a grown woman. Which makes this even worse. You should know better, (Y/N). Getting pregnant by some — some guy.”

“Some guy? Excuse me?”

“Well you’re not her boyfriend, are you? You are just some guy with no obligation to her. And if you wake up one day and realize what a massive mistake you made then you can just leave. She’ll be stuck being a mother forever.”

It boils his blood to hear those vicious words hurled at him and (Y/N). Mistake? Sure this baby wasn’t planned but they’re not a mistake. Not for one single second did Jamie think of his child as a mistake. A surprise. A shock even. But never a mistake.

“I know you don’t know me and quite honestly I don’t think I want to know you either but I can tell you one thing. That is my baby and I love it now and I will always love it. It is not a mistake. You can judge me, you can judge her and you can judge our decisions but stop talking about my child like that. That is just uncalled for. I know my word doesn’t mean anything to you but I was here from the moment (Y/N) told me she was pregnant and I will be here for the rest of my life. That is a promise.”

She has the audacity to scoff at him and completely ignore everything he just said. Instead, she moves her cold hard gaze towards (Y/N).

“What do you want me to say? Congratulations? Well, you’re not getting those here. Your father would be so — “

Before she can finish the sentence a shrill screeching sound cuts her off as (Y/N) pushes away from the dining table.

“I gotta get out of here.”

“Oh, what is this now? You’re just going to leave because you don’t get the reaction you hoped for? I can pretend if that’s what you want me to —”

“Mum, I am not running. I need to go! I am nauseous as fuck and if you don’t want me to empty my stomach onto your dining table just let me leave. I didn’t come here asking for your approval, I just thought you should know you’re going to be a grandmother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go throw up in your bushes.”

Jamie is hot on her heels, grabbing both their jackets and (Y/N)’s bag in the process as he rushes after her. Though even in the chaos and hurry he doesn’t miss the look of absolute shock and bewilderment on the older woman’s face. It feels like a small victory but it does paint a little smile on his lips.

“Oh don’t do that. I’m disgusting.”

“I’ll be watching you push out a whole damn baby. This is nothing compared to that.”

If it weren’t such an absurd situation, that comment probably would’ve sent her spiraling but really it’s the least confusing part of today. Of course, Jamie wants to be around for the birth. Now that he mentioned it, (Y/N) thinks she shouldn’t be surprised. Of course, he’ll be there. He’s been there for it all so far of course he’ll be there when the baby enters this world.

It’s almost a little dreamy and magical to think about. Almost. Because life doesn’t let her think too much about it before it sends another wave of vomit up her esophagus.

“I don’t mind holding your hair while you puke, you're growing a whole human it’s the least I can do. But I gotta ask you something.”

“What’s that?” (Y/N) asks and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater. Desperate times, desperate measures. At least that’s how she tries to justify it to herself.

“Is that hedge purposely cut to look like a dick?”

He nods towards one of the boxwood trees at the edge of the property that (Y/N) has no doubt her mother hired a gardener to trim and shape and care for.

“Holy shit, it does.”

“And cut too. You think your mum knows?”

And suddenly the nausea is gone and forgotten about and in its place, a flurry of giggles takes over.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jamie asks once they both calm down a little.

Is she okay? Not really but this too will pass and it’s not like she expected anything else from her mother. Ever since (Y/N) was a little kid she remembers her mother dulling all her joy and whimsy. Why should things be different now?

“No. But I will be.” and when he takes her hand in his and places a soft kiss on her knuckles, for the first time since turning into this very street, she truly believes in those words.

“Good. Now do you wanna go home or do something else?”

“Home sounds good but uh — do you want to stay? Watch a movie or something? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Another kiss to her knuckles sends her heart into a little frenzy. Teeny tiny somersaults all around her ribcage.

“Yeah, can I pick? “

“Fuck no.”

“Alright, was worth a try.”

“It was a dream? That’s it?”

The ending credits to The Wizard of Oz play on her little TV screen as (Y/N) and Jamie sit on her couch, a bowl of microwave popcorn long devoured and now empty resting between them.

“I mean, you can interpret it however you want.”

“Meh, didn’t like that one very much. Next time we should watch the Muppets treasure island. That’s a good one.”

There truly is something so sweetly endearing about Jamie’s childlike qualities. His unintentional goofiness and his ability to make even the worst day turn into an okay one. An “all in all kinda good” one.

“Okay, fine. Next time we’ll watch the Muppets. It just — my dad had the Wizard of Oz on DVD. One of the few movies he had. So whenever I’d stay with him we’d watch it together. I think I just wanted to feel close to him today.”

“Hey,” Jamie chimes up and gently nudges her shoulder with his. “I didn’t know your dad but from what you said about him he seemed like a fun guy. A good guy. So I think your mum is wrong. He’d be proud of you. I know that.”

And for the second time that day (Y/N) thanks whatever cosmic power there is for putting Jamie in her life. For making him the person who goes through all of this alongside her. For making him her partner in this crazy adventure. For making him the father of her child.

“Thanks, Jamie. I really appreciate that you stood up for me and the baby. It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just froze. Every time I talk to her I want to say so many things but they get stuck somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth.”

“It’s okay, I get it. It’s like that with my dad too. We’ll just have to be each other’s voices then I guess.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.”

He does it again then, that tiny insignificant kiss on the top of her head. It means nothing.

But it means everything.

“Hey uh — I’m not really tired yet. Do you wanna start that Muppets movie now?”

“Uh yeah? Absolutely. I’ll never say no to Kermit. He is THE frog.”

Just a little while later, while Kermit and Miss Piggy sing a love song on screen while hanging off a cliff, (Y/N)’s eyes fall shut, her head resting gently against Jamie’s shoulder.

For the second time in less than 24 hours (Y/N) falls asleep in Jamie’s arms. And though she might not realize it right then, she has never felt more safe and secure ever before.

Maybe things really will be alright.

“Now I know that life can take you by surprise, And sweep you off your feet. Did this happen to us, Or are we just dreaming? Love led us here.”

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 11 months ago

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Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 1

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader)Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 3631 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

(21 years old)

'All right, team,' Y/N Prince addressed her small group of young heroes. 'Good work today. Now go hit the showers and enjoy a nice quiet night in. You've earned it.'

'So crash!' Bart cried with an energetic jump. If anyone were to guess how the team's week had been solely based on Bart's energy, they would've said it had been cruisy. Not that Y/N had led a covert task force over the past week into Bialya to take down meta-human trafficking outposts.

Y/N watched with pride as Bart and Jaime bantered on their way out, followed by Stephanie and Cassie chatting excitedly about something, all the while Tim and Cassie held hands quietly. It had surprised the team a little how, out of the blue, the two of them were dating. But if Wally's death had taught them all anything, it was that time was too precious to waste in their line of work. They'd been together ever since.

Two years, Y/N mentally noted, and suddenly the adrenaline she'd been running on for the past week died as the last of the team exited the entrance chamber of the Watchtower. Exhaustion weighed down on her spent body, but an extra weight now sat in heart. Has it really been that long already?

So much had changed in that time. Like how the Young Justice began working out of the Watchtower alongside the Justice League, having both the Hall of Justice and Mount Justice destroyed by the Reach and the Light respectively. M'gann and Connor were back together, having finally gotten over their differences and accepted their mistakes. Also, Kaldur had been offered a position in the Justice League following the retirement of his king, and so Kaldur took his place as the new Aquaman in the Justice League. M'gann was promoted to new team leader, with Connor and Y/N assisting her as senior members of the team.

Some things had remained the same, however. Like the team's energy and slight dysfunction that always made Y/N feel at home. They weren't perfect, but what family ever is?

Dick was still gone. So was Artemis. She'd, understandably, retired as Green Arrow's protégé immediately after Wally's death, assuming her undercover identity Tigress instead and going off on her own. Neither had stayed in touch with anyone on the team.

You're my best friend. Always have been, always will be...

'Yeah right,' Y/N mumbled bitterly as she made her way to the conference room. No doubt that'd be where M'gann and Connor were waiting for her to debrief the mission.

Upon entering the room with the long table, she was immediately embraced by M'gann. 'Welcome back,' she said, squeezing Y/N tighter. 'We're so glad you're okay.'

Y/N smiled softly as she embraced M'gann in return. 'You ever doubted me?'

'No,' Connor answered, 'but you can never be too cautious right?'

Y/N let go of M'gann to hug Connor as well. Since getting back together, Connor wasn't as emotionally suppressed as he'd initially been. It was nice seeing him this way, more happy and free. The same effect had happened to M'gann, who (only around the team and the Justice League) revealed her white martian self proudly instead of pretending to be something she wasn't.

'You're right,' Y/N said as she released him, then the three of them took a seat to discuss the mission.

The debrief didn't take long, there wasn't much to report on as all out-posts had been hit successfully, putting Queen Bee's meta-human trafficking at least a little behind.

'It's not much, but it's the best we could do with the little information we got,' Y/N admitted. 'I dislike Queen Bee and her minions as much as the next person, but I've got to give it to her, she knows how to keep things under wraps.'

M'gann reached across from where she sat and closed her hand over Y/N's. 'Y/N, the mission was a success,' M'gann insisted. 'And what's most important is that you brought everyone home. Alive.'

Y/N heard the underlying fear in her words, the memory she was thinking of as she spoke them. Y/N twisted her hand over to clasp M'gann's in return. 'I know,' she said softly. 'But I just... we haven't so much as put a dent into the underbelly of meta-human trafficking in the two years it's been running. Somedays... Somedays I just feel so useless.'

'I know, Y/N,' Connor reassured. 'But we've just got to trust that our hard work will pay off eventually. I know it doesn't seem like much now, but every mission counts. Don't be so hard on yourself.'

Y/N withdrew her hand at the comment, hastily standing up. 'Don't be hard on myself? My mother is Wonder Woman, is the Champion of Themyscira, a World War II hero, and had already saved the world once by my age now. My father was a fighter pilot in the Iran-Iraq war and died fighting for his country,' she said angrily. 'And what am I doing? Hiding under the protection of darkness, taking out small outposts that will just be rebuilt elsewhere just as quickly? How can I not be hard on myself?'

At M'gann's taken aback expression, Y/N felt slightly guilty for raising her voice. But they just didn't understand. All her life, she'd been training and fighting for her supposed "destiny". Surely this wasn't it.

'I'm sorry,' Y/N said, forcing herself to calm down. 'I just...'

'You don't have to a apologise,' M'gann interrupted, standing and walking over to Y/N to clasp their hands together. 'After all we've done together, I understand that what we do now doesn't seem like enough. But I can tell you were made for more.'

Y/N offered her a grateful smile and M'gann let their hands drop. 'I should go. Mother and I have patrol in Washington DC tonight.'

'Already?' M'gann asked, face dropping with disappointment. 'But you just got back. Surely she knows that.'

'Unfortunately, even in the country's capital, crime never sleeps. I'm just grateful it's nothing like Gotham,' Y/N said.

'I agree,' Connor said. 'Visited there once with-' He paused for a moment, eyes growing wary as he looked between Y/N and M'gann. But Y/N already knew what he was going to say and gave him a slight nod to continue anyway. 'With Dick. We did patrol once there together. To put it simply, they're all nutcases there.'

Y/N managed an amused half-smile. 'You're not wrong there,' she said, then made her way to the door. Before she reached the doorknob, M'gann called out.

'Maybe when you're free next, you can join us for dinner at home,' she offered, her eyes hopeful as she waited Y/N's answer.

'Yeah,' she eventually answered though it wasn't as enthusiastic as she should've been. 'Yeah, that'd be nice. I'll talk to you guys soon. Don't stay up here too late.'

It had to be close to 7pm in Washington DC at least, so there weren't many people still left in the Watchtower. Just those from the League and her team that were rostered for overnight supervision. Y/N made sure to greet each person she walked by on the way to the Zeta-tubes. But just as she was about to dial in her code to leave, a resounding voice made her pause.

'Wonderess,' Kaldur called. 'Not even a hello before you head off for another mission?'

Y/N smirked as she turned back around to face the new hero of Atlantis. 'I'm sorry, Aquaman,' she said in an exaggerated tone. 'Not all of us can sit around having team parties with our Justice League buddies.'

To anyone else, it would've been taken as an insult. But Kaldur saw her humour and smiled. 'Oh is that what this is about? You know the League do more than just chit chat.'

Y/N shook her head. 'I don't know. The mess you guys left behind in the conference room before I left tells another story.'

As Kaldur approached Y/N, the sarcastic banter dropped as they both embraced each other. Kaldur had grown into a fit, muscular man, and now stood a good head taller than Y/N. His uniform was more or less the same as it had always been, except now both his arms were covered from shoulder-to-finger in gold armour. He certainly was no longer just a young lad, but the man his predecessor saw he could become.

'It is good to see you, Y/N,' Kaldur said softly as he pulled away.

'And you, old friend,' Y/N replied, a genuine smile splitting her lips.

'I heard you went into Bialyan territory,' Kaldur continued. 'I am glad to see you and the rest of the team are unharmed.'

'Well, the team are no longer just children' Y/N said, 'but it was a simple enough mission too. Nothing too dangerous.'

Kaldur's brows furrowed together as he looked over Y/N. 'I sense you are not happy with something. Wasn't the mission successful as I have heard?'

Y/N let out a soft sigh. 'It's not that I'm not happy with the mission's success. Of course I'm happy we all got home okay. I just...' She didn't really feel like explaining herself again, but Kaldur nodded in understanding.

'You feel stuck,' he finished, to which Y/N nodded in confirmation. Kaldur turned so he could look to the giant windows of the Watchtower's entrance chamber. They framed Earth in a way that made it seem both ginormous and insignificant at the same time. 'The League is in a similar position, I am afraid to admit. Some days there is progress. Other days, it feels like I wait so much I am afraid I will freeze in one spot.'

'How do you combat that?' Y/N asked.

Kaldur turned back to Y/N, his face softened with a small smile. 'I train.'

'That's it?' Y/N asked, not quite believing her friend.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Amongst other things, yes. I train, I go home, I see my family, I laugh with my friends. I do all these things to remind myself why I am here. Why I do what I do. It sounds to me like you need to remind yourself why you are here.'

'Because of the team,' she said without hesitation. He hadn't asked a question, but she felt she needed to justify herself. 'Because I can't just desert them, not when they're working so hard.'

'And yet you feel you are not doing enough,' Kaldur countered, his teal eyes gazing hard at her. 'Why?'

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but no answer came.

'Y/N,' Kaldur continued. 'Why do you feel the need to stay when you don't want to be there?'

'I do want to stay-'

'Don't lie to me, Y/N,' Kaldur interrupted.

Y/N swallowed thickly as she looked from Kaldur, to the conference room door where M'gann and Connor still were, and back to Kaldur. Seeing no escape from his fierce questioning, she caved.

'It's not that I don't want to stay,' she admitted quietly. 'I love the kids, I love the team. I'm just... so tired, Kaldur. Of doing the same thing week in and week out and getting nowhere. But if I leave, I don't want the team to think I'm abandoning them. Not like-'

Y/N bit her lip at the thought of him. No, she wouldn't leave. She just wouldn't.

Kaldur pressed his lips into a firm line. 'Dick needed to reforge his own path. He was grieving in his own way.'

'Well I was grieving, too,' Y/N countered, a sudden surge of anger flaring up inside her. How dare Kaldur defend Dick. 'And I had to get on with my life because the team needed me. We needed him, Kaldur. I needed him, and he just left.'

Y/N bowed her head to collect her thoughts and calm down. That's two friends she had yelled at for no reason. Before she could apologise though, Kaldur placed a hand on her shoulder, and she raised her head to find him looking directly into her eyes.

'I cannot say I am not also disappointed in our friend,' Kaldur admitted sadly. 'I did not expect him to become so closed off for so long. But you've helped rebuild this team from the grief and pain it experienced when Wally died. I think you've earned the right to decide where you go from here, Y/N, without feeling guilty or selfish if your wish is not to stay with the team. In my opinion, you were made for more than this.'

'That's funny,' Y/N said in a flat voice. 'You're the second person today to tell me that.'

'Maybe because it is true,' Kaldur said sincerely. 'You know you still have a place in the Justice League whenever you'd like to join us. I would be honoured and happy to fight alongside a warrior such as yourself again. It would be like old times.'

Y/N offered a grateful smile as she patted Kaldur's hand that still rested on her shoulder. 'Thanks Kaldur, but I'm not ready for that just yet. Besides, you don't need two Amazonians running the show. And let's be real, we would so be in charge of you boys.'

The two shared quiet laughter as Kaldur's hand retuned to his side. 'Very well, then. So what will your decision be, Wonderess?'

Y/N looked to the Earth and space beyond it once more. Her heart and head were tearing her in two. She truly loved being a part of the team, but something inside her agreed with M'gann and Kaldur. Surely she was meant for more. But what exactly that was, she had to go find out.

'I think you're right, Kaldur,' she finally said, turning back to face her friend. 'I think I need to remind myself why I am here in the first place. And that comes from knowing who I am to begin with.'

Kaldur's face pinched in slight confusion. 'I'm sorry, but I do not follow.'

Y/N didn't answer straight away. Instead, she turned to dial in her code to exit the Watchtower. 'B-00: Wonderess,' the computer announced as the Zeta-tube activated.

She then finally turned back to Kaldur. 'I need to know where I've been to then know where I will go,' she said. 'I need to go back to where it all started.'

'And where's that?' Kaldur asked.

'With my mother,' she answered, then spared him one last sweet smile. 'Tell M'gann and Connor and the team I'm sorry.'

Kaldur looked as if he wanted to say something, ask more questions. But Kaldur was always more insightful than the rest of their group. He didn't always need an explanation. He just somehow knew, and so Y/N was grateful when he accepted her words with a simple nod of his head.

'Be safe, dear friend,' he said in farewell. 'May destiny be kind to you, wherever it leads you.'

Y/N nodded her appreciation and entered the Zeta-tube. It was always a weird sensation travelling by Zeta-tube, like a million light pricks into every part of the body. Thankfully the trip was quick to the Zeta tube depot in Washington DC, with Y/N walking out of an abandoned janitor's closest in the post office down the road from her apartment.

She smiled and waved down to civilians as she flew over the busy streets, but she flew as fast as she could to the meeting point.

Her mother casually sat atop the Washington Monument as Y/N approached, floating just in front of her. 'I was starting to worry you had gotten caught in Bialya,' Diana joked as she stood to greet her daughter. 'Welcome home, my daughter.'

'Good to see you, Mother,' Y/N said, and the two briefly embraced.

'Now that you're here,' Diana said, prepping to take off for the usual patrol, 'why don't we get going.'

'Actually, Mother, there is something I wanted to talk to you about first,' Y/N interrupted.

Diana raised an eyebrow. 'Really? And what would that be?'

Y/N took a deep breath in before she spoke the words. But when she did, she had never been more sure. 'I want you to take me back to your home. To Themyscira.'

~~~

Since she was a little girl, Y/N had heard hundreds of stories from her mother about the homeland of the Amazons. How beautiful it was with its architecture, its nature, and the women who ruled the island. She'd always dreamed of someday going there, but her mother said it was impossible to find it.

Except she failed to mention that despite leaving the island and forgetting where it was located, Diana had been gifted a compass that would always lead her back home, but only if she used it. It would not work without Amazonian hands.

So after all the storytelling and all the dreaming, nothing came close to actually witnessing Themyscira in the flesh.

Y/N stood speechless on the beach, looking up at the steps that led up to the first level of the city that seemed to climb higher and higher towards the sky. It was something out of the Ancient Greek text books Diana used to make Y/N read as a child, but even more fantastical and wondrous.

It wasn't just the visuals, though. Since the Invisible Jet broke through the barrier that hid Themyscira, Y/N had felt a pull of sorts towards the island. Now that she stood on its soil, she felt a warm energy wash over her, strengthen her, pull her into its embrace as if to say, Welcome home at last.

An entourage of women in red leather slitted skirts, plated tops, and armour while holding spears followed behind a woman dressed in white and purple robes. Ebony hair billowed out behind her golden leaf crown, the grey strands in between looking more silver as they caught the midday sun.

Y/N knew immediately who she was. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Her grandmother.

As Hippolyta approached Y/N and Diana, she opened her arms to take her daughter's face into her hands. 'Diana,' she said, bringing her lips to her daughter's forehead in a simple kiss. 'Welcome home.'

'Thank you, Mother,' Diana said, and Y/N could tell by her mother's smile that she was joyous to be home. 'I'm sorry it took me so long.'

'Do not worry about that, child,' Hippolyta reassured. 'You are here now.'

She then looked over to Y/N, and for some reason Y/N straightened up, flattened out her Wonderess uniform, made sure her hair was tucked behind her headband. Y/N was briefly taken back to the time she (consciously) remembered meeting her grandparents on her father's side. All dressed up so as to make a good impression.

Y/N held her breath as Hippolyta walked slowly over to her, grey eyes scanning every inch of Y/N's figure in silence. When she'd done a cursory glance, she then stepped closer and took Y/N's face into her hands. Y/N was unable to look away from Hippolyta as the older woman caressed and poked and prodded at her features.

At last, Hippolyta stopped and her hands dropped to Y/N's shoulders. A kind, joyous smile graced the older woman's features. 'You have my daughter's eyes,' she said quietly, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. 'So kind and forthright. What is your name child?'

'Y/N Prince,' Y/N managed to get out once she caught her breath. 'Daughter of Steve Trevor...' Her gaze flickered to her mother, and the two shared a smile. '...and Diana Prince, Princess of Themyscira.'

Y/N looked back to see Hippolyta tearing up as realisation finally hit her. 'I have a granddaughter,' she said as she finally embraced Y/N completely, to which Y/N reciprocated and the entourage of Amazonians cheered and smashed their shields with their spears in celebration.

Hippolyta let go of Y/N to clasp one of her hands as she went to grab her daughter's hand. She then turned the three of them to face the crowd. 'My daughter and your champion, and my granddaughter have come home!'

More cheers erupted.

'Let us prepare a feast in their honour,' Hippolyta continued, and when the crowd began to disperse, she turned to Diana and Y/N to speak more quietly. 'I am sure you have both come here for a reason, and not just to say hello.'

'You are correct, Mother,' Diana said. 'It seems as though I have neglected our origins as Amazonians for too long and can no longer teach Y/N our ways.'

'I wish to learn who I am,' Y/N added. 'I wish to know where I come from, so that I may know where I must go next.'

'And how long do you believe that will take?' Hippolyta asked.

'As long as it takes,' Y/N answered, more certain than ever before. 'I don't care what I must do, Your Majesty. I will follow your guidance, as my mother once did.'

Hippolyta considered Y/N for a moment, then spared Diana an impressed smirk. 'Well, you taught her one thing, Diana.'

'What's that mother?' Diana asked.

'Your steadfast stubbornness.' Hippolyta looked back to Y/N. 'Very well, granddaughter. You will train among the other warriors. I just hope you know it won't be as easy as you might think.'

'Trust me,' Y/N replied, 'I'm hoping it isn't.'

Hippolyta's smile widened and her eyes sparkled with excitement. 'That attitude is already a good start. Come, we will talk of this later. First, let us celebrate this homecoming.'

That night Y/N ate and drank and danced among women like her, some older, some younger, some taller, some stronger. And she had never felt more at home, more recognised and celebrated. She'd had her doubts if she had made the right decision, but now she had no doubt.

She was where she belonged.

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