#jaime will tell her about them!!

[la-pheacienne]

#daenerys targaryen#jaime lannister#asoiaf#mine#she doesnt think about vengeance much anyways like thats obvs not a driving factor for her. but when she does meet jaime?#and it's like OKAY LET'S FUCKING GOOOO KINGSLAYER. and he's not the monster she was expecting

obsessed with the futility of vengeance in dany's story. your family is murdered, you're exiled, your home is taken in every sense of the word, and you have just hatched three dragons so you *should* be more than capable of enacting some righteous vengeance. except your family's killers are all dead before you can ever get near them and the last one left is a one-handed broken thing with graying hair and ptsd. what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? kill him? he'd probably thank you. dany's family is a haunting him more than her. what can she do but tell him to let them go, that rhaegar is gone, his children are gone, let them go. what can she do but let them go herself.

[swordmaid]

jb plaguing my mind as per usual and [jaime scrambled to his feet] is so LOUD to me. like wdym you’ve spent the entirety of feast wondering where she was, and if she finished the quest you’ve given her, and you even prayed for her, and you were gonna ask randos if they’ve seen an UGLY girl pass by but the moment she actually appears he’s just caught off guard and his composure is just gone. he scrambled to his feet! jaime!!!! jaime lannister scrambled to his feet!!! when brienne arrived in his tent, WALKING IN as she pleases btw. that’s so crazy to me. i wish visual adaptations of ice and fire was real.

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

finally start reading asos again after a reading slump:

the very next chapter is dany's:

[norringtondeservestheworld]

Do you remember when in one of the thousands of pathetic attempts of D&D to make us sympathize for their awful boring incest ship they made Myrcella actually say that she is happy that Jaime is her father?

Just imagine, you are a teenager girl and you discover that you are born from incest and your biological parents are also biological twins with each other and your first reaction is "Oh yeah I'm really happy about it."

Who the fuck would be happy of being a product of incest??

And on top of all of that, they killed her off two seconds later so the viewers would have thought "she gave them her blessing for their love story" BITCH IT'S NOT A LOVE STORY IT'S FUCKING INCEST I--

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce goes to meet the other fathers? Have a barbecue with Clark, Oliver, Berry and talk about their kids?

"Damian told me that I was cool, it's been a while since one of my kids told me that" or "Mia is doing so well at school these days"

those moments when they are all (old men) father proud of the mess the kids are?

The dads: *lounging on beach chairs*

Clark: It's nice to finally get a day off. I think Jon needed it more than me. He's still reeling from growing up and suddenly turning back into a kid again.

Ollie: How'd that happen, anyway?

Duke, walking by: That's just this blog.

Clark: What?

Duke: Nothing. Hey, B, can we use the jacuzzi?

Bruce: Sure, go ahead.

Duke: *gives Emiko a thumbs up*

Emiko: *drains the jacuzzi*

Harper and Cullen: *start cleaning the pipes*

Ollie: I know how you feel, Clark. Roy's the happiest I've seen him with Lian back but it's still a big change. We're working on getting her enrolled in school this fall so she can catch up on what she's missed.

Roy: *sprays the tub with disinfectant*

Jason: *dries it with a leaf blower*

Hal: Speaking of changes, Jaime graduated with honors. I know he's not my kid but I can't help but feel like a proud uncle. Kyle got a new concept artist job, by the way, and I think he really likes it.

Jaime: *turns the jacuzzi back on*

Kyle: *sets up folding tables*

Barry, chuckling: Bart tried to enter a marathon the other day.

Clark: Kon wanted to pay money to go skydiving. I don't get it.

Aquaman: I remember when Kaldur joined an amateur scuba class at that age. Perhaps it's an attempt to feel more human.

Bruce: It's easy for us to forget sometimes too.

Kon, carrying a giant pot: Boiling hot soup, coming through!

Kon: *pours it into the jacuzzi*

Cass: *adds spices*

Tim, with a clipboard: One down, eleven more to go. Bart, stop eating the ingredients.

Bart: It's just tofu.

Tim: That's for Damian. What's he gonna do now, starve?

Bruce: Dick's been coming home more often lately. I can tell Alfred's really happy when he sees us all together.

Dick: *drapes tablecloths over the tables*

Wally: *sets up plates*

Steve, walking in: Mind if I join? Diana's running a little late so she sent me and the girls ahead.

Clark: Of course, feel free.

Donna, holding a basket: Where do these vegetables go?

Barbara: I'll take them. Could one of you get some spoons from the kitchen?

Cassie: On it.

Steve: So where are all the ladies?

Bruce: They're in the living room. Selina's showing off her latest... um... collection. Alfred has tea in the kitchen if you want some.

Steve: Don't mind if I do.

Yara: Should I put the meat in now?

Jon: One sec.

Jon: *scoops some soup aside*

Jon: You're good now. I just needed a vegetarian portion for Dami.

Kon: MORE SOUP COMING!

Ollie: Honestly, I'm surprised everyone's doing fairly well given the industry we're in.

Steph, leading a crowd into the yard: And here's where our main event will be.

Bette: *checking names off a guest list*

Bette: That's almost everyone. Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter are gonna be a little late. Avery's on a mission in Shanghai so she can't make it. Beast Boy and Raven stopped to buy desserts. And the We Are Robin kids just got stuck on a stalled subway train but they should be here pretty soon.

Clark: I think it's a matter of good mentorship and giving them plenty of time and space to get acclimated to the superhero lifestyle.

Jesse: *making lemonade*

Ace: *fills the coolers with ice*

Garth and Kaldur: *handing out drinks*

Barry: And giving them plenty of room to grow at their own pace.

Hal: Very true.

Bruce, sighing contently: You can't help but be proud of them.

The kids, chanting: HOT POT! HOT POT!

[imjustdelusionalok]

yandere dc: cam girl! reader

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼think about it though, a darling who does r18 stuff on the internet either because they're bored or they just want money.

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼knowing how many perverts are on the internet, our witty girl uses that to her advantage! (especially knowing that she has a few stalkers that clearly doesnt need ALL of that money in her eyes...)

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼one word about this falls from your nonchalant lips as you tell this to your friends, and their mouths are agape and so are the weirdly familiar people at the back who are deeply concerned dressed up so much for some reason! :D

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼and of course it continues with you pulling out a box of newly bought 'equipment' with a brand new camera for that HD quality goodness, and you grin fiendishly as a result. your friends warn you and call you dumb as sh*t for doing what your about to do but that's okay in your eyes.

"relax girls <3"

"tf? how we supposed to relax if you're gonna be showing your ass off on the internet?--"

"but seriously (Name), we're worried. what if there's a creep out there and their really--'

"chill you two, that's too wild, i know how to handle myself >:3"

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼they DON'T... trust your judgement. but they'll keep an eye on you just in case since besties look out for each other forever <3

˖𓍢ִִ໋𓇼a month has passed and woah... being an 'artist' of sorts is quite the hardwork. your 'viewers' are demanding, but so are those cash donations that keep flooding in your comments section. so you keep on spreading those thighs of yours to them, alright? <3

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸

'$100 from Jay_B1RD'

'$100 from DAM1_W'

'$100 from C.K3NT'

'$100 from W4llYW3sT'

'$100 from AR$3N4L'

'$10 from 1MPulS3'

'1MPulS3: sorry thats all i got-- 😭'

'In3rt1@: you're pathetic, Allen.'

'$100 from In3rt1@'

'$100 from BlUB33Tl3'

'BlUB33Tl3: aint no way we got bart's evil twin donating money on a porn site before gta6-- 💀💀'

'$100 from DA_BEAST'

'DA_BEAST: stfu jaime your one to talk 😭'

'$100 from DrizzyDrake'

'$1000 from GR4YS0N_68'

'GR4YS0N_68: Put on the bunny ears and smile for me sweetie <33'

you nod dazedly at the camera, and wore the floppy little bunny ears while finishing it off with a lopsided smile.

'$10000 from GR4YS0N_68'

'C.K3NT: enough about him ill give you 10000 dollars if you show me your tits 😈'

you rub the tips of your index and thumb together.

'C.K3NT: correction, 100000 dollars <3'

you smile to that, and your lacy top accidentally drops as if on cue.

at this point your comment section is struck with ridiculous amounts of unending money donations, while perverse comments continue to rile up and try to out do the other in terms of lewdity and vulgarity.

you sighed, simply content and happy with the everyday good pay... but then you gasp.

'TM_G!nn!S has entered the chat.'

'$1000 from TM_G!nn!S'

'TM_G!nn!S: sorry baby, but this is all i have for now. ill give you your $100000 dollars tom, kay?'

you heart reacted his comment.

'TM_G!nn!S: and to everyone here whose names are Jason, Tim, Damian, and Dick, dad wants you off the website.'

'DrizzyDrake: ...you did not just snitch on us--'

'TM_G!nn!S: i think i just did :3'

'Jay_B1RD: 💔'

'GR4YS0N_68: ...'

'DAM1_W: trip on a rock, mcginnis.'

'TM_G!nn!S: <3'

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸

(i couldnt help but add terry since hes also a batboy and we need more batmen in the chaosss 😩)

(and also btw, should i also add klarion the witch boy? i think im liking him already after watching young justice 🫣..)

[visenyaism]

ASOIAF POV characters ranked by how good of a guest judge they would be on drag race (definitive ranking)

24. Arys oakheart. spectacularly bad in a way that would also be bad TV because he simply would not know what to do. and would be icky about it.

23. Ned stark. canonically gets suspicious of people just because they are gender nonconforming.

22. Aeron greyjoy. people are going to wonder why i put him as Victarion on this list. this is because I think victarion has a better personality for reality TV.

21. Victarion greyjoy. good TV, would win reverse GLAAD award for most homophobic event on television.

20. Areo hotah. too stoic.

19. Quentyn. little nerd in over his head. if Barristan Selmy is telling you that you are not serving hard enough it’s already over.

18. Barristan selmy. a #ally for revealing that egg legalized gay marriage for his kid daeron and being happy about it, but does not have a lot else going for him. would probably say everyone looks nice

17. Bran. seven.

16. Joncon. IS gay, but does not seem like he’s super into all that.

15. Jon. Would probably awaken something in him.

14. Jaime. does not serve cunt, is one.

13. Brienne. Listen she’s trying her best okay.

12. Samwell Tarly. Would DEFINITELY awaken something in him. too busy blushing and telling everyone they look great to be an actual judge.

11. Arya. One thing about her is she WILL be finding people and she WILL be talking to ALL of them which makes her a great TV personality, but i think she would get bored.

10. Davos. Can’t explain this one i just think he would be down.

9. Cat. Serves, afraid to FULLY serve. Ally.

8. Asha. gets off on being mean to pretty boys so you know she is having a great time.

7. Dany. what can i say she’s a star.

6. Tyrion. definitely has the personality for it.

5. Cersei. is a fascist but showing up in full rhaegar eleganza to her husband who she murdered’s funeral. cuntress. You KNOW she would kill it.

4. Arianne. Definitely the first person you would think to ask to guest judge and for good reason.

3. Sansa. 13 year old fashion icon who loves gay people so much. Is so into it the whole time. meticulous notes.

2. Theon. could be the greatest to do it if he could ever get over himself but as it stands simultaneously knocks it out of the park and is a total train wreck. extremely fun to watch.

1. Melisandre. Serves like her life depends on it which she thinks it literally does. Obsessed with appearances and performances. off putting antagonistic cryptic and weird. fantastic TV.

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical 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

[creature-wizard]

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.

[aemondsbabe]

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!

[llonelygoddess]

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.

[chickren]

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]

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

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.

[gayeddieagenda]

assigning u 47: “touching their elbow to get their attention” + 🥺🌌🛠️

scene prompt game! these r soo fun <3

--

Funny thing happened, Eddie says, and Buck leans into him, easy gravity.

The log they’re sitting on is long enough for half a dozen people, but it’s just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, at the far end of the backyard. They’ve been filling time, since they finished with their official chaperone duties of overseeing the building of the tents. Tent stakes and mallets are a lot simpler than most of the tools they deal with on the job, but add a couple dozen thirteen-year-olds to the mix, and Eddie’s grateful to be able to step back for a second. Let Jaime’s dad and his acoustic guitar take the lead for a little while.

“What was it?” Buck asks.

It’s funny. When she—Allegra’s mom, whose name Eddie’s been trying to remember for fifteen minutes—said it, Eddie’s first instinct was to pretend that it never happened. Then, Buck drops next to him on the log and Eddie starts talking.

“One of the moms came up while you were”—Eddie waves a hand in the air, trying to encompass helping half a dozen thirteen-year-olds build tents in a gesture—“and she, uh. She asked where my husband was.”

Eddie looks at Buck out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sure what he thinks about it. He’s got a feeling like he was waiting for Buck before he reacted. Buck would tell him what he was supposed to feel, if he was supposed to feel anything at all.

Buck laughs without missing a beat.

He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “Who was it this time?”

“This time?” Eddie repeats.

“It wasn’t Mariah, was it?” Buck continues. “Every time I meet her, I get the feeling she’s pretending to remember me.”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn’t even know who Mariah is. “It was Allegra’s mom.”

“Kelly?” Buck asks, and that’s, yeah. That’s the name Eddie couldn’t remember. Buck laughs. “Aw, c’mon, Kelly! I’ve met her like a hundred times.”

“This, uh. This happens a lot?” Eddie asks. He feels...he doesn't know how he feels, when Buck isn't blinking an eye at this.

Buck tilts his head to the side. He peers at Eddie, looking like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “It doesn’t happen to you?”

“No,” Eddie says honestly.

“Huh,” Buck says.

He leans back on his hands on the log, still looking at Eddie. When Eddie first pitched the idea of Buck coming to chaperone Chris’s science club camping night, Buck had lit up. He insisted on taking Eddie to two different sporting goods stores to make sure they had everything they needed, poring over shelves of sets of dishes and flashlights like they were going to be in the woods for a week, not Mrs. Romano’s backyard for a night. Neither of them thought it was weird, Buck coming to one of Chris’s events. Chris only thought it was the regular amount of weird; he’d rolled his eyes when Eddie said he was volunteering to be a chaperone, and rolled his eyes slightly less when he said Buck was coming along too.

It wasn’t weird. Buck’s been going to Chris’s school stuff since at least their second year of knowing each other, maybe earlier. It would be nice even if Buck were just doing it to take pity on Eddie and make sure he’s not doing all the parent things by himself; it’s something else that Buck wants to be there for Chris just as much as Eddie does. It’s their routine. It’s--it's what they do.

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I thought this was just, like, one of those things. We both knew about it, so we didn’t have to talk about it.”

“I did not know about it,” Eddie says.

Buck bumps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Are you spiraling about it?”

“No, Buck,” Eddie says. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m coming to terms with the fact that half the parents of my son’s friends think I’m married to you. I’m not spiraling about it.”

“Guess that explains why more of them aren’t trying to set you up with their single mom friends, huh?” Buck says. He grins, elbowing Eddie again. “I think it’s kind of cute. You know, us being married.”

Cute.

Eddie’s not sure, now, why he thought that hearing Buck’s perspective would clear this up for him. He thinks about Buck, fielding assumptions that he and Eddie are together for the better part of five years, and Eddie feels the opposite of clarified.

They’re sharing a tent. They put it together as soon as they got here, before the kids borrowed all the tools and didn’t come back with them. Eddie didn’t own a sleeping bag of his own, so Buck picked him up one, the same brand as Buck’s, a dark orange to Buck’s green. It’s funny, suddenly, thinking about lying down next to Buck in the tent tonight. Knowing that there’s parents here who think that’s just what they do every night, in their house, in the bed they share.

“Oh, hey.” Buck catches Eddie’s elbow and points. Eddie follows him, first down to the point of contact, feeling Buck’s grip through the fabric of his jacket, then up along the line of Buck’s gaze to the sky. “You can see the stars.”

It’s true. When the sun went down a couple hours ago, it brought with it the typical evening gloom of LA. Just above the treeline, there’s a break in the clouds, opening up the night sky behind them.

It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere, but the Romanos live a little out of the city, just far enough that the stars actually show up in the darkness. Enough that Eddie can pick out a couple of constellations he still half-remembers from school textbooks, from sitting on the back porch back home, from sneaking out to sit on the empty bleachers behind the high school at one and two in the morning and just look.

Eddie looks down. Buck is still watching the sky, an easy look on his face.

Eddie has this wind chime.

He got it at a flea market. Chris found it, actually, in the back of some tent full of antique toys and kitchenware that reminded Eddie of his abuela’s house. He decided he liked it and it was only three bucks, so they took it home. Eddie hung it up in the tree in the backyard, where Chris suggested. You can see it from the kitchen window.

It might be homemade. It’s simple: colored glass hanging on strings in a circle. Someone etched pictures onto the glass, little scratched-out images of birds on each side. When the wind blows, the strings spin, sending the glass in circles. The pictures blur together.

Here they are. Buck and Eddie, sitting next to each other in the dark of almost-night. Best friends. Partners. Chris’s, the people who show up to take him to camping nights and school trips. Spin it, and they’re what Kelly sees—partners of a different kind. Together. Eddie can see them both in his mind’s eye, him and Buck on either side of the glass. Spinning.

Buck’s hand is still on his elbow.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says. Buck’s expression, when he finds Eddie’s face, is wide-open. “When we get home tomorrow—you wanna stay? For the day?”

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

The string spins.

[starsofjewels]

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.