#maybe convict siblings

[jonathanbyersphd]

Sometimes a sibling trio can be a self-proclaimed freak with a slight weed addiction, a boy who was demonically possessed and committed accidental homicide, and a girl with psionic abilities ❤️

[edge-oftheworld]

see, a lot of me really wishes we WERE a closed, safe, trusted community in which getting updates of lua was normal behaviour like the early days of instagram when you'd share photos of whatever life updates you had with your mum, best friend, and 5 cousins. part of me wants to believe we can become that. I do like seeing her, I enjoy the snippets of their domestic life and Parent Michael and how he just steps into that naturally. it's authentic and he's absolutely in his element! the guitar concert and the baby video game controller and everything. this is Peak Parent Michael and I feel so blessed to see it

then also I'm fairly certain that if luke and sierra had a kid we would hear nothing of it til luke blurts it out by accident in some concert or interview. we might get an artsy blurry family photo or a professional Liz Hemmings Photography family portrait exactly once to confirm and then you know that child wouldn't even know the internet exists til they're 18 or so

[snekdood]

wish i didnt hafta cut off my conservative family members but they were all so abusive that I can hardly tolerate being around them

[bruciemilf]

Jason’s alcohol tolerance is exactly 0.09%, which Dick knows. Which is the primary reason he roped his siblings into playing a drinking game.

At most, Steph, who likes to think she’s fluent in Jason, — or Batboys with repressed emotions, at least, — anticipated the following:

Angry shouting, maybe some swear words God definetly didn’t approve of, trying to fist fight Alfred’s plants, painting the Batmobile pink, and the works.

She definitely didn’t expect a ruby cheeked Jason to cry in Bruce’s lap.

“What the fuck are we gonna do if we don’t know eachother in the next life, huh?!”

Tim piped up with an a nerdy rant, — technically, if life were to reinvent itself into another existence, it’d simply be an alternative universe being created, — but Jason simply throws his shoe at him.

Bruce, much to Damian’s pride, doesn’t look shaken in the slightest. If he can handle his mother, he can handle everything,

“Sweetheart, I really think that’s not going to happen, thought,” he assures him with gentle conviction.

“But we’re not gonna know eachother! What the FUCK. I want to be your son in every life. I’m gonna kill God.”

“Please don’t kill God.”

“We’re Jewish, what do we care?!”

“Jay,” Bruce promised, “I would find you in every universe.”

That was supposed to make Jason feel better, not make him cry harder. But it’s cute Bruce tried, Dick thinks.

He still grounds all of them for paining the Batmobile, thought.

[blue-ink-pearls]

Fig Isn't Meant to Be Cassandra's Paladin, Bucky Applebees Is

As most of us have realized since Ankarna's original domain was revealed, Fig is clearly supposed to be her paladin. The archdevil of rebellion united with the goddess of conviction and justice would be an incredible force for fighting wrongs, for inspiring revolutions, and creating true positive change.

But Fig wasn't wrong that Cassandra would be immensely helped by having a paladin swear themselves to her. Even though Kristen is an extraordinary cleric, she's only one person.

When we first meet Bucky Applebees in Junior Year, he is filled with doubt and uncertainty. He's a paladin of Helio, the same religion (cult) that Kristen fled from and he has been forced to take on the role of protector to his younger brothers that Kristen once held as the eldest daughter. He hasn't told his parents about the gold Kristen gave them, he thinks he's going to hell for lying, he misses his sister but thinks she's living in sin (maybe?), and he's curious about what beer tastes like (but never mind, he doesn't want to know. He bets it would be great. For sinners, would love it.).

When Cassandra dies/is kidnapped, Kristen first feels a connection to her goddess again when she thinks of how her doubt and uncertainty led to her escaping that life and finding freedom from Helio and her parents.

Ally: "I think she spent so much time trapped and feeling, like, super wrong, that doubt and mystery actually feel like a really beautiful escape, and more true." Brennan: "The concept of escape hits you. And for a moment you hear (clicking). And all of the locks on the windows and all of the locks on the doors of this room just open slightly. A little bit of divine magic flows through you....[W]hen you thought of escape, you thought of, yeah, embracing the unknown gives you the strength to leave a bad situation. Escape."

Bucky, Bricker, and Cork are still trapped and now that Brennan's brought Bucky back into the story, I don't think the season is going to end with Kristen leaving her little brothers in an abusive home life when there's every possibility for them to find safety and acceptance at Morded Manor.

I believe that if Kristen is able to help her brothers get away from their parents and the Church of Helio*, then Bucky is going to need a new god to follow. Why wouldn't Bucky, a scared, uncertain 14 year-old kid, not follow a goddess in the image of his older sister, whose very essence is that "whenever you're in the dark, I'm here holding your hand."

Kristen has always had a hard time doing the work of growing her church, of telling people about Cassandra. I think she'd find it easy to tell her siblings all about Cassandra when she's trying to help them find enough doubt and uncertainty in what they've known all their lives, that they'll have the courage to escape too.

*Also, there's definitely going to be further exploration of the Church of Sol, and by extension the Church of Helio, as they were 100% involved in what happened to Ankarna and Kristen is probably going to try to keep Bobby Dawn away from Bucky, just as she absolutely rejected Buddy Dawn becoming her brother's mentor.

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

Luke has been making fun of your ‘unnecessarily absurd beauty routine’ —as he liked to call it— for the past week, so, you decide to drown him in it, just to see how much he can handle.

warnings: just a single use of the word b1tch, fluff at the end <3, little use of yn

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

i. the eyebrows

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurt!”

“No it didn´t!”

“Yes, it did!”

“Shut up and hold still”

“Ow! You´re pinching my skin, you bitch!”

“That was fully on porpuse”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the nearby bunk beds. Most of the boys, Luke´s half-siblings, gathered around you both, enjoying the show, eyes gleaming with mischief as they witnessed their usually stoic and confident counselor reduced to a whiny mess. Luke´s head was leaning on your thighs as you plugged his eyebrows with some dangerously sharp tweezers.

“See, that´s what you get for making fun of a girl” Travis Stoll, the elder of the Stoll brothers, joined in, a smirk on his lips. "We all warned you about messing with her” he pointed towards you.

“Shut up, Travis!” Luke spat.

You enjoyed the way his face was turning red, from embarrasment and because he was trying so hard to hold back his tears.

“You know, Luke” you started, plugging on another thin hair which earned you a little curse whispered from his lips. “You can always just, give up on the bet”

You found yourself enjoying the sight immensely. The perfect Hermes´ cabin counselor who'd spent the past week mocking your beauty routine,– here he was, sprawled across your lap, a prisoner of your tweezers.

“There´s no way in hell I´m letting you beat me that easily" he declared, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

You couldn't help but smirk. The bet had been born out of sheer frustration. For the past week, Luke had been relentless in his teasing about your beauty regimen. He'd mocked the meticulous way you cared for your eyebrows, the endless battle against unwanted body hair, the whining about the occasional pimples even when you spent a good twenty minutes locked in the bathroom cleaning your skin. He'd called you high-maintenance, a slave to societal expectations, and everything in between.

Finally, you'd snapped. "Alright, Castellan" you'd declared, eyes blazing. "How about a little bet? If you can handle a full day of 'girl stuff,' I'll clean your cabin for a week"

The look of surprise on Luke's face had been priceless. He'd scoffed, of course, overconfident and utterly clueless about the sheer torture involved in waxing, tweezing, and mud masks. But fueled by his arrogance, he'd readily agreed.

Now, here you were, watching him squirm on your lap like a fish, a testament to his underestimation of the situation. A wave of satisfaction washed over you. It wasn't just about winning the bet, though that was certainly a perk. It was about showing him, in a slightly sadistic way, that there was more to "girl stuff" than he thought. It was about proving that self-care wasn't about vanity, but about feeling confident and comfortable in your own skin.

“As you wish, little baby”

Chris suddenly appeard in your vision, the satisfaction on his face plagged as if he was enjoying this more than you did. “You know, yn” he called out, you momentarily stopped, accidentally giving Luke a break. “Luke has a little hair situation going on under his arms”

“What!?” Luke blurted out. His siblings laughed again.

“He does?” you asked Chris, looking down at Luke and patting his head like a little kid.

“Oh, yeah” Chris smirked. “Maybe that could be the next step, don´t you think?”

“I´m gonna-” Luke tried to get up from his bed, hands reaching out towards Chris. He took a step back just as you grabbed Luke by his shoulders and pushed him down again towards your lap.

“I´m not done with you yet, tough guy. But Chris´ right. Get your hairy armpits ready”

ii. the waxing

You pulled out a box of waxing stripes. Luke, oblivious to the impending torture, was too engrossed in examining his newly sculpted eyebrows in the hand mirror you'd provided. A satisfied smirk played on your lips. The eyebrows looked fantastic – perfectly groomed without being overly feminine. Because yes, he asked you to keep them as close to their natural shape as possible.

“Shirt off” you declared.

His head whipped towards you, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. His half-brothers, mirrored his action, erupting in a chorus of whistles and catcalls.

"Excuse you?" he sputtered, h is voice a touch higher than usual.

"Damn," Connor drawled to you. "at least ask the guy out first"

You rolled your eyes. Luke shot him a withering glare, but beneath the bluster, you could see a flicker of nervousness.

You held up the waxing strips. “It´s time for your armpits, champion” you announced with a playful lilt in your voice. You began rubbing the strips together to warm the wax.

He whined, pulling his camp t-shirt over his head, revealing his well-toned torso, and throwing it over a nearby bunk. You stole a glance at his body for a microsecond, a slight red blush coloring your cheeks. His brothers were quick to start a echo of whistles.

He flopped down heavily on the bed, one arm raised awkwardly above his head. To your surprise, there wasn't as much hair as you'd anticipated. But that didn't diminish the sheer terror radiating from him. You stifled a laugh. "Relax, Luke" you said, your voice gentler now. "The tenser you are, the worse it'll be."

His brothers leaned in closer, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. You carefully pressed the strip against his skin, smoothing it down with the practiced ease. He held his breath, his entire body tensing in anticipation.

You inhaled sharply yourself, then you ripped the strip off in one swift motion. Luke let out a yelp that would have made a banshee proud. His face contorted in pain, and his free hand clenched into a fist. His brothers erupted in laughter, their amusement fueled by his pain.

"Alright, alright" you said, trying to sound sympathetic despite the laughter bubbling in your throat. "Deep breaths, Luke. If you don´t relax, it´s gonna hurt more"

He glared at you, his voice laced with a hint of betrayal. "Easy for you to say."

Ignoring his grumbling, you ripped off another strip. A chorus of gasps filled the room, and Luke let out another yelp, his face turning an even deeper shade of red.

"See?" you said, holding up the strip adorned with a few stray hairs. "Not so bad, right?"

He wanted to murder you.

"Don't you use anesthesia for this?" he wheezed after a particularly harsh pull on his other armpit, his eyes watering slightly.

“We´re not babies, Luke” you replied, shaking your head. "Just good old-fashioned grit and determination. Besides, you wouldn't want to miss out on the full 'girl stuff' experience, would you?"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity —at least for Luke—, you finished. His armpits were as smooth as a baby´s butt. His brothers, unable to resist themselves, reached out and slapped the freshly waxed skin, earning them a swift kick each from a now-furious Luke.

iii. the skincare

"Skincare? Seriously?" Luke asked, sitting down on your bed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You all went to your cabin to continue his so claimed ‘girl´s day´. You would´ve paid to take a picture of your sisters´ faces when they saw you walk in with a bunch of boys following you behind.

“Just lay down, princess” you declared “I´ll bring my stuff”

He leaned back against the your pushy pillows, getting comfortable.

“First time on a girl´s bed?” Chris asked, earning a few laughs from his siblings.

“Shut up” Luke spat.

You came back with your washbag, full of different products that nearly gave Luke a heart attack. You had to assure him that this time, this wasn´t gonna hurt. At least not the first part, but you kept it a secret.

"Alright, beautiful” you teased. “Let’s get started. First thing’s first. “Cleansing”

You dipped a soft washcloth in warm water and began gently wiping away the dirt and sweat from his face. Luke closed his eyes, a look of unexpected serenity washing over his features. You noticed him get loose under your touch, a slight smile playing on his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of surprising compliance.

“Wow” he said. “This is actually quite nice”

"See?" you said softly. "This isn't so bad"

He opened one eye, a playful glint mirroring your own. "Not bad at all" he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice “Guys, you should try this."

The Hermes´ cabin boys leaned in closer, their usual boisterousness replaced by a quiet attentiveness. They watched as your fingers moved with a practiced ease, cleansing Luke's skin with a tenderness they hadn't seen before. They saw you take some cleanser, and rub it softly against Luke´s skin.

They all exchanged glances, a new kind of curiosity flickering in their eyes. Usually, the sight of anyone touching Luke, let alone his face, would have elicited a barrage of teasing. But seeing you, your movements gentle and practiced as you gathered a gentle cleanser, they found themselves strangely mesmerized.

"Well, he looks chill" Connor added. "Could you clean my face sometime, yn?"

You chuckled, throwing a playful glance thorwn at him. "Maybe later, Connor. Right now, it's all about Luke's glow-up."

Next came the toner, followed by a light moisturizer. Luke remained surprisingly still, his eyes closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips from time to time. His brothers, bored by the lack of drama, started to get bored.

Just as you were about to get some eye patchs, your eyes drifted on a little tool inside your washbag; your blackhead remover. An idea came up to you.

"Alright, Luke" you announced, a hint of warning in your voice. "Time for the fun part."

You reached for a steaming hot towel and pressed it gently against his nose and forehead. He inhaled deeply, the steam opening up his pores.

"This feels so nice" he mumbled, his voice muffled by the towel.

A slow grin spread across your face. "Oh, it gets better" you said, an evil spark in your eyes.

You grabbed the blackhead extractor and, with practiced ease, began gently removing the unwanted blemishes.

Suddenly, Luke's eyes flew open, a look of pure horror replacing his previous serenity. "Wait! What are you doing?" he shrieked.

"Shh" you hushed him playfully. "Relax. These little guys gotta go. Trust me, it'll be better for your skin in the long run."

"But it hurts!" he whined, swatting your hand away with a surprisingly weak attempt.

"Just a little pinch" you reassured him, your voice a mockery he hated. "Besides, if you don't remove them now, they'll grow bigger and poppier, and that will hurt even more."

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips as you expertly extracted another blackhead. This bet was getting a little harder to beat than expected. He winced slightly, then a defeated sigh escaped his lips.

“So, Connor” you called. “You wanted to be next, right?”

iv. make up

"So," you began, a sly smile playing on your lips as you settled into the chair across from Luke, "you think makeup is easy, right?"

"Shouldn't be that hard, I guess" he mumbled, trying to sound confident. Inside, however, his stomach churned with fear and worry.

You gestured towards your desk, which was now overflowing with an array of colorful tubes, palettes, and brushes – an arsenal of beauty products foreign to the boys' eyes. "Alright then," you declared, a playful lilt in your voice. "Here's a little game. I'll show you each product and you have to guess what it's for. Every one you get wrong? Goes on your face."

Luke's eyes widened in horror.

"Wait, what?" he sputtered, a nervous tremor in his voice. "You can't be serious!"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "But Luke, you just said makeup was easy. This is your chance to prove it!"

"This is cheating" he mumbled, looking betrayed. "You never mentioned makeup in the bet!"

"Technically," you countered, holding up a finger, "it's still 'girl stuff’, as you call it”

A groan escaped Luke's lips. He shot a desperate glance towards his brothers, hoping for some kind of intervention. Charles Beckendorf, who allegedly decided to join the fun, just grinned towards him.

"Don't chicken out now, Luke" he said, arms crossed over his chest. "You can always give up on the bet and let her win”

Luke glared at his friend, silently cursing the day he ever agreed to this ridiculous wager. He sighed dramatically, slumping back on the bed. "Fine" he mumbled, defeated. "At least try your best to make me look decent."

“That´s not gonna be on me, dear”

You couldn't help but laugh at his misery. You reached across the desk, picking up a sleek black tube with a silver cap. It felt cool and smooth in your hand.

"What do you think this is?" you asked, holding it up for him to see.

Luke squinted at the tube, his brow furrowed in concentration. He recalled seeing something similar in movies, actresses applying it with a flick of their wrist. An idea flickered in his mind.

"Eyeliner?" he ventured, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Huh, correct”

You set the eyeliner aside, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes. Next up, you picked up a thin, wooden-looking tool with a pointed tip. There was a small, round piece of what looked like colored chalk attached to the end.

"Alright," you announced, "round two. What is this?"

Luke studied the object carefully. It did resemble a pencil, but the colored tip threw him off. He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything similar he'd seen in the vast array of makeup products on your desk.

"Uh… a pencil?" he finally ventured, his voice lacking conviction.

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the cabin. Tears welled up in your eyes quickly, blurring your vision slightly.

"A pencil, Luke?" you wheezed, wiping a tear from your cheek. "It’s a lip liner"

Luke's cheeks flushed crimson.

"Lip liner?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. "For what? Do I need to draw on a bigger mouth?" He gestured to his own lips, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice.

You shook your head, stifling another giggle. "No, no need for a bigger mouth. Lip liner helps define the shape of your lips."

With a shake of your head, you said, "Now the fun part begins. Bring those lips here, handsome."

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face hovering a few inches from yours. The air got filled with a strange tension, probably because his brothers walked closer so they could get a better look. His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

“You´re lucky this is the same shade as your natural lip color” you whisper.

“Yeah” Chris adds. “Maybe you should wear it more often, handsome” he reaches out his hand to squeeze Luke´s cheeks, but he´s quick enough to slap his hand away.

“Shut up”

The minutes that followed were filled with a more lighthearted energy. You continued the game, Luke surprisingly getting a few things right – foundation, and even a surprisingly good guess on a shimmery eyeshadow palette.

But he wasn't without his misses. The concealer, a light, creamy formula designed to camouflage blemishes, ended up being applied liberally under his eyes, leaving him with a ghostly pallor that had his brothers doubled over in laughter. Then came the blush. A delicate peach shade, turned his cheeks a comical shade of fuchsia thanks to your deliberately exaggerated application with a fluffy brush.

His brothers, fueled by this new display of comedic gold, howled with laughter. Charles, wiping tears from his eyes, wheezed, “He-, he looks like a baboon in heat”

"Oh man" Travis howled, clutching his stomach. "This is even better than the armpit wax"

Next came the eyelash curler, that strange-looking contraption that promised to create dramatic, fluttery lashes. The moment you held it up, Luke's eyes widened in suspicion. He snatched it from your hand before you could ask him what he though it was.

"What the hell is this!?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mixture of disgust and fear. "You girls like torturing yourselves with these things?"

You reached out and gently took the curler back. "No torture involved" you replied. “And since you know absolutely nothing about it…"

He tried to look defiant, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. "I know what it is" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Oh really?" you challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"

You handed him the curler and watched as he fumbled with it, his big hands clearly not designed for such delicate work. He eventually gave up with a defeated sigh.

"Okay" he grumbled, handing the curler back to you. "Do your worst."

The final touches were a disaster, a glorious, hilarious disaster. Every fiber of Luke's being screamed in protest as you handed the brushes over to his merciless brothers.

“Come here, Lookie-Pookie” Travis cooed, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned in with a thick brush loaded with sparkly eyeshadow. Luke recoiled, swatting his hand away with a glare.

"Don't touch me!”

“Come on Luke, give us those pretty little lips. We need to make sure they're nice and kissable” Beckendorf joined, opening a little lip product tube he wasn´t sure what it really was.

Luke wanted to melt into the floor, his face burning hotter than the volcanic eyeshadow now smudged across his eyelids. The audacity, the betrayal! His own brothers, the supposed bastions of masculinity, were gleefully participating in this humiliation.

“Maybe some of this highlighter will make him look prettier”

He couldn´t believe his own brothers knew what highlighter was except for him.

As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, a mix of horror and amusement washed over him. He never thought he'd feel so violated by makeup. But somewhere amidst the frustration and embarrassment, a strange sense of camaraderie bubbled up. His brothers, usually his biggest tormentors, were doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. And you, the leader of this whole mess, were practically glowing with barely suppressed mirth.

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Luke's lips. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Sure, he looked like a technicolor disaster, but the shared laughter, the fun, it felt strangely… good. He glanced at you, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Gods” he breathed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "This is the best day of your life, isn't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that filled the cabin. "Hell yeah it is" you replied as you offer him make up wipes.

v. the reconcile

Night had fallen, painting the sky with shimmering stars. The campfire illuminated the campers´ face, its flames dancing higher as the Apollo cabin filled the air with joyful camp songs. Laughter mingled with the strumming of guitars and lyres, creating a symphony of pure summer camp bliss.

The fire itself danced in response to the campers' emotions. It roared a little higher with every burst of laughter, dimmed momentarily during a quiet story, and flickered with a playful intensity as the Hermes boys, fueled by their mischievous exploits, recounted their version of the day's events.

You sat by the fire, poking a marshmallow with a stick, watching the scene unfold. Their narrative, of course, focused heavily on your supposed "torture" of Luke. Specially the Stoll brothers; they painted a picture of you as a ruthless makeup artist, a waxer who pealed Luke´s skin off and left his face shining like marble. Meanwhile, Luke simply sat there, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You noticed the Hermes boys regaling other campers with their story, punctuated by bursts of laughter. And yes, you didn´t like to admit it but, you'd lost the bet. Technically. But watching Luke handle their teasing with surprising grace, a hint of amusement in his eyes, filled you with a strange satisfaction.

You were there by yourself for a few more minutes. The camp sounds filling your ears as you tried your best not to stuff your face in all the toasted marshmallows your sisters offered you. Your hands felt tired, because yes, even though what you did was not too much for you to handle, Luke squirmed and behaved like a worm covered in salt, which only made your work harder.

Just then, a figure settled in front of you. Luke. He held two sticks, each crowned with a perfectly toasted marshmallow. He offered one to you, his usual smirk replaced by a genuine smile.

"Truce?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

You couldn't help but grin, accepting the marshmallow with a playful jab. "Truce"

He sat beside you, the marshmallow on his stick disappearing in one swift, hungry bite. Suddenly, you leaned in closer, feigning seriousness. "Oh dear" you said, your voice laced with mock concern.

Luke raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What is it now?"

"You've got a blackhead. Right, there" you declared, pointing to a non-existent imperfection on his nose.

His eyes widened in mock horror. "No way! I´m not letting you touch my face again" He swatted at your hand playfully, but you were quicker.

"Hold still, you wriggly worm" you teased, pretending to grab his nose. A playful fight ensued, a flurry of limbs and laughter. You managed to land a swipe at his cheek with a gooey bit of marshmallow.

Finally, breathless with laughter, you both settled back down, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the quiet camaraderie. As you bit into your marshmallow, a comfortable silence settled between you.

"So, about that bet" he began, wiping his marshmallow-streaked hands on his cargo pants.

You turned to look at him, still chewing on another marshmallow and a piece of melted chocolate. "Yeah?"

"I don't want you to clean my cabin" he explained.

"Why not? I lost the bet" you replied, surprised by his sudden declaration.

He looked at the sky, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. "Yeah, but… We're kind of a mess, actually. I would feel bad if you did it alone."

"Aww, Castellan, are you worried about little ol' me?" you teased him, squeezing his cheek playfully. He blushed a deeper shade of red, looking positively flustered.

"Maybe" he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

"Okay, here's a deal" you continued, trying to cover your own blush. "I'll clean your cabin, but you have to help me. I really don't wanna get into dirty-underwear-business."

Luke considered this for a moment, then a grin spread across his face. "Deal. But I'm warning you, there might be some things you shouldn´t even try to touch with bare hands. And I mean Travis´ and Connor´s bunks”

From a distance, a group of campers — a mix of Hermes, Apollo, and Hephaestus cabins —watched your exchange with keen interest. The playful teasing, the way your hands brushed as you made your deal — it was all too much for their already overactive imaginations.

"I bet you fifteen bucks he's gonna ask her out by the end of the week" an Apollo camper, Lee, declared.

Chris snorted. "That's weak. Twenty bucks says he does it tonight."

hiiya, just thought I could write something different to what I usually do. hope you enjoyed <3 🩷

[yesimwriting]

Untethered

part 2 of Understanding 

Summary: As you and Aegon grow closer, thoughts of the future leave you more uneasy than ever. The questions of war and marriage are foes you cannot escape, especially when influenced by the other greens.

Warnings: plot deviations (mainly the implication that helaena isn't married to aegon and her twins being someone else's ik it'd make canonical sesne for aegon to be able to have 2 wives, especially as king, but this is just a way to make the greens more desperate for aegon to get married and produce an heir), ethics?, and canon compliant incest (reader is rhaenyra’s daughter)

----

There is nothing crueler than a lack of conviction. Your mother and family are preparing for a war that seems to grow more inevitable by the day, Aegon spends his days planning retaliations and strategizing ways to strengthen his feeble claim to the throne, and you are left at a standstill.

The worry and guilt meld together in your veins, the unease pulling you from reality. It doesn't matter that you're currently sitting in the library, away from the Hightowers--away from Aegon. Your current distance cannot undue what has already been done.

You did not mean to care for Aegon, you did not want to care for Aegon. How are you supposed to go home and look your mother in the eye while knowing that you welcomed her usurper into your childhood apartments like an old friend? That you allowed him to sleep in your bed? That you--that you allowed him to kiss you?

You blink, eyes focusing on the pages in front of you. Your mother, your siblings, Daemon, Rhaena Baela--you have to assume that they're all fine. You cannot allow a moment's curiosity to send you down a spiral.

And Aegon--there is no point in worrying about Aegon. As of now, the Red Keep is his. He's safe here, and with the realm so divided, no one is going to suggest sending him anywhere.

"I should have known you'd be here." You blink, head turning towards the stacks. Aegon's standing between rows of books, only a few steps away from the table you've claimed as your own. "I checked your apartments first, foolish of me."

He's watching you, a soft smile playing at his lips. You latch onto that. "I haven't been here that long."

Aegon takes a step forward, his attention shifting away from you and towards the few books stacked neatly by your side. "No...it seems I'm only about 3 books late."

His grin becomes a more certain thing as he moves towards your table. He pulls out the chair next to yours. Instead of sitting right away, Aegon leans forward, his lips pressing against yours.

The kiss is as warm as it is jarring. Knowing that you should stop this is not enough to rid you of the desire to melt into his touch. He pulls back before you can truly react. "Aegon."

He grins, keeping his body angled towards you as he sits. "We're the only ones in here."

Despite his reassurance, your eyes still drift towards the stacks blocking off your seats from the rest of the library. Maybe your tendency to choose secluded seating areas as a way of avoiding as many skeptical glances as possible is paying off. You look at Aegon again, nodding your head slowly.

His smile slowly falls. "Are you alright?"

You can't imagine that he wants to hear about the way you worry about your family and the guilt you feel for wanting to be around him. If anything, telling him about what's concerning you may alienate him. There's nothing trustworthy about an untethered heart.

You nod again, this time the motion more direct. "Yes." You sit up a little straighter in an attempt to feel more connected to what's in front of you. "I'm just a little tired."

His eyebrows pinch together briefly. The look is so pensive you have to work at not squirming. After a beat, he softens. He leans towards you, voice dropping to just above a whisper as he asks, "Did something keep you from your sleep last night, Princess?"

The suggestive lilt to Aegon's voice leaves your skin warmer than it was moment ago. His smugness is only encouraged by your silence. "Someone, actually."

"Really?" He grins, an elbow coming onto the table to prop up his chin. "Do tell."

You hum once, pretending to need to think through your response. "There's not much to tell." Your eyebrows draw together as you mime contemplating even further. "He was quite tiresome. He was so talkative it made it difficult for me, of all people, to find sleep."

Aegon's glare makes it difficult for you to not laugh. "Very funny." Before you can facetiously thank him for recognizing your sense of humor, Aegon continues, "I'm curious, is that why you crawled onto my lap last night? To shut me up?"

The blood in your veins turns to ice. An uneasy heat burns its way through your chest and up your neck. Despite being aware of your solitude, your eyes instinctually dart towards the stacks behind Aegon. "I did--I was not on your lap."

He relaxes in his seat, raising his eyebrows as he presses his lips together in a way that does little to disguise his smirk. "That's not the way I recall it."

In an attempt to ignore the lingering warmth still burning your skin, you roll your eyes. Despite his attempts at flustering you, you're still glad for his company.

"If it is sleep you desire," Aegon's arm moves towards the table, a book you hadn't noticed in his grasp, "Perhaps this can help." You glance between him and the book curiously. "It's a collection of some of the most notable accounts of dragons and what they accomplished with their riders." He pauses, lips briefly pressing together. "I'm sure you're familiar with some of the stories, but this is an updated volume."

He--Aegon--After missing your family for so long, such a personal and genuine gesture nearly makes your eyes sting. As a child, when you spent the most time around Aegon, all you ever wanted to do was recount stories of the most fearsome dragons. As you grew, the interest never left you, you just learned to talk about it less.

There's something so comforting about being understood like this. "You brought me a book on dragon history?"

He's staring at his hands. "In the first few pages, there's an illustration of a dragon that looks a lot like Eveningstar."

You beam, opening the book. "I love it."

The corner of his mouth pulls itself upwards. "Yeah?" His hands come to rest on the table's hardwood surface. Aegon shifts forward, his knee brushing against yours. "Read to me?"

You nod, turning the pages until you find the start of the first chapter. "Balerion the Black Dread."

The story is one you know well. Balerion's time with Daenys the Dreamer, Balerion being one of five dragons to escape Dragonstone, Balerion's conquests with Aegon's namesake.

As you read, Aegon moves closer. His breath is a warm, barely there thing against the side of your neck. You know better than to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, concentrating on the words in front of you.

Sensing your determination to ignore him, Aegon lifts a hand away from the table. You tense, but continue to read. He finds a strand of loose strand of hair that's fallen past your shoulder. He pulls the strand back, fingers lingering against your collarbone.

Your own lungs betray you, your breath briefly catching itself in your throat. "Aegon."

"What?" He doesn't move away, he doesn't even bother to stop smoothing back your hair. "You're the most honorable princess in the realm, surely you're not this easily distracted."

Your face warms. The years you've dedicated to being the ideal princess, the heir's perfect daughter in hopes of preventing being a source of controversy in debates of your mother's claim cannot be taken away so easily. You can't compromise who you are now, not over something you barely understand. "I'm not distracted." The defense rings weak in your ears.

"Perfect," he hums, hand settling against your shoulder, "Then we shouldn't have an issue."

Aegon leans forward, his lips brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Your stomach knots in a way that you do not comprehend. Confusion and hesitant curiosity are not enough to keep you from what you know. You stiffen, pulling back slightly. Your movements aren't a true rejection, but they're enough to indicate your surprise.

He's grinning. "We're still alone."

His easygoingness is infectious. You only manage to hold onto your frown for a few seconds before your smile is matching his own. "You're incorrigible." The words lack any malice.

Maybe in another life, another world in which your mother's status as heir could be easily accepted, things could have been different. A new wave of guilt crashes into you, this one less certain than the others. You're a traitor to your mother for caring about him, and a traitor to Aegon for wishing that you cared less.

"Keep trying, I'm sure you'll crack me eventually."

Your smile broadens. His presence is such a welcomed warmth, you're briefly overwhelmed by how happy you are that he's here, safe and in your presence. The feeling comes close to dislodging the worry from your chest. You lean into that. "I'm glad you're here."

Aegon's eyebrows draw together, his eyes searching yours. You're not sure what he's looking for in your expression, but he seems to find it because after a beat he's smiling again. "I should visit you during the day more often."

Your thumb slowly leafs through the edge of the book's pages. "No--I mean--yes, I'm glad you're here with me, but I'm also glad you're here, as in somewhere safe." You pause, the words attempting to stick to the back of your throat. "Where I know nothing bad is going to happen to you."

His silence digs at you. An expression of such concern, a reminder of your reality is a misstep you're not sure you can recover from. The nail of your thumb presses itself between the pages in front of you. "You worry about me?"

You blink. "Sometimes." Letting out a careful breath, you turn your head enough to look at him. "When I let myself think about life beyond King's Landing."

Aegon's expression is somber in a way that doesn't suit him. His hand reaches for yours. "Anyone would be a fool to attack us with Vhagar guarding the city." You let him squeeze your palm to his. "And as far as life beyond King's Landing, I have no intention to leave anytime soon. Not with everything worth my attention already within reach."

The comment is such a blatant attempt at flattery, you should be annoyed. Instead, you feel the corner of your mouth pull itself into a smile. "Worthy of your attention? I'm honored."

He eases at that, his thumb dragging itself across his knuckles. "What happened to being worried sick over me?"

You roll your eyes, but make no attempt to pull away. "You're exaggerating."

"I," he sighs, "Am mortally wounded."

You fight an instinctual grin, lips pressing together to keep your expression measured as you turn in your seat. Your eyes land on the stacks before you can look at Aegon. Some half thought out comment about his theatrics lodges itself in the back of your throat.

Standing where the shelves part, expression harsh in its blankness, is Alicent Hightower. You take your hand back as quickly as possible, spine straightening in an attempt to create as much distance as possible. Aegon's eyebrows pull together, but before he can ask, Alicent clears her throat.

He moves his arm back before angling himself forward. You force yourself to stare at book in front of you. How long has Alicent been standing there? Was she waiting to witness some kind of mistake or has she already seen one?

"Pardon me." She steps forward, her voice flat. "I did not mean to impose." Alicent glances at her son before allowing her stare to find you.

"There is no imposition." Aegon's voice is measured, his certainty in the casualness of the situation bleeding into each syllable. "I'm only here to show her a book."

Her eyebrows pinch together, "A book?"

The skepticism coating her words makes it nearly impossible to remain still. An uncomfortable warmth begins to crawl up your neck. "We were discussing it." The look she gives you is far from one that indicates any extent of belief. In all honesty, you can't even fault her for her suspicions. You clasp your hands beneath the table, keeping your expression as polite as possible as you hesitantly tack on her title, "Your Highness."

She watches you for another beat before turning her attention back to her eldest son. "Alright. Aegon, your brother is looking for you. Apparently, you were supposed to meet, but clearly, you lost track of time."

Aegon, still completely unbothered by his mother's surprise appearance, relaxes in his seat. "Meetings with Aemond are more rigorous than meetings with the entire Small Council, I apologize for not being eager to begin yet another conversation about Vhagar's uses."

Alicent's stare turns into something distinctly pointed and maternal. With that, Aegon stands. "I should not keep him waiting any longer." He rests a hand on the back of your chair. "Once you're finished here, maybe you should find Helaena. I'm sure she'd enjoy the company."

While enjoying Aegon's company may make you feel like a viper turning against her own blood, you're certain your mother would never have a problem with you spending time with Helaena. As children, you would often run through the gardens with her, listening diligently whenever she'd tell you about any creature that caught her eye.

Presently, she's been a constant beacon of positivity. Before you grew closer to Aegon, she'd often comfort you whenever worry and loneliness lunged at your heart. Even when you couldn't understand the phrases she'd speak to you, you could always tell that they were meant to be optimistic, the words usually implying something about a kinder future.

You nod. "Alright, I will."

With that, Aegon straightens. He offers you a final glance before walking forward. You watch as he disappears between the shelves, leaving you alone with his mother.

Alicent's presence has never been a simple thing to you. Even as a child, whenever you became the object of your grandsire's easily fleeting attention, Alicent's appearances often made you feel the need to put on a performance of sorts, like each casual question and polite smile was an attempt to find some flaw in you.

You're sure she'll either leave or give you an excuse to disappear after some passive aggressive comment masked behind a proper dismissal. You wait as casually as you can manage, your hands clasped together tightly beneath the table.

She straightens slightly, her hands coming together in front of her. "My son seems to have taken an interest in you." The sentence, though spoken much too factually to be an accusation, leaves you on edge. "And he rarely takes an interest in much."

The nail of your thumb digs into your hand. "I'm not sure I'd say he--"

"I know my children, I know the way Aegon is." Though jarring, the interruption is welcome. You weren't sure were you were going with your defense. "And as of late, he has been...different." She takes a breath. "I understand your mother has raised you with certain ambitions, expectations." Your expression hardens at that. "But you've always been an intelligent young woman, I'm sure at least a part of you understands our duty to the realm."

The sentiment is a reflection of the same placating speech you've witnessed others deliver to your mother again and again. Contrasting iterations of the same general warning--the men of the realm will never bend their knee to a woman. Those that remind your mother of this always choose to forget that those same men they're so worried about had once bent their knee to swear obeisance to her.

You've promised yourself that you'd get through your time in the Red Keep by remaining as neutral as possible. Your position is precarious enough without you adding to the fire. But this is an argument you've heard so many times before. "My mother intends to create a new order."

Alicent sighs before falling silent. When she finally speaks again, her words shock you, "Perhaps she will." Your surprise renders you incapable of responding. "Or perhaps Aegon's claim to the throne will be upheld. In all honesty, I do not know."

She takes a small step forward. Something behind her expression shifts, the stoic set of her features cracking enough to reveal something heavier. "But I do know how this will end for you. The men will fight, they will render their decision, and no matter who sits the Iron Throne, you will still have a royal womb."

Her eyes are wider, shinier than you've ever seen them. The expression makes her appear smaller. "No matter the order of things, a noble woman will still need to continue her family's line. A Targaryen woman, even more than most."

She blinks in an attempt to vanish whatever honesty had overtaken her. It doesn't work, the lingering somberness somehow making her appear younger, perhaps even similar to the version of her that had once been her mother's friend. The thought of her as a girl not much different than you, with dreams and friendships meant to last a lifetime built within the walls of the Red Keep, twists your stomach.

She had been around your age when she married your grandsire, hadn't she? You dismiss the thought, pressing your lips together. "Any match you are attempting to push me towards would only strengthen your family's claim to the throne."

"I won't insult you by pretending a union between you and Aegon wouldn't help unify dividing lines or that you have not already proven yourself a beneficial influence on him." Her voice feels flat.

Alicent's eyes find yours, but the longer you stare at her the less you see. "I am not speaking to you as a queen, or as a mother. I am speaking to you as a woman. There are fates much worse than wedding a man that cares for you."

She nods once, expression still unsettlingly vulnerable as she turns to leave. Alicent disappears behind the stacks, the even sound of her footsteps growing softer until you're completely alone again.

Once you're certain that she's beyond the library's threshold, you turn your attention back to the book in front of you. Alicent's words will mean nothing to you, you'll make sure of it.

----

Wide eyes stare up at you, their innocence adding a soft glow to violet irises. Jaehaerys blinks at you before stretching his arms out towards you.

The gesture is so simple, so familiar it's nearly dizzying. All of your brothers had been babes once, and now some of them are old enough to prepare to fight, to die. And the ones that are still small might grow up seeing you as a traitor and not the older sister that helped cradle them through fussy nights and cared for them.

"He wants you," Helaena says, her attention briefly shifting away from the little girl on her lap.

Her gentle prompting is enough to bring you back to the present. You nod, abandoning your own seat in favor of approaching the little prince. You bend down, carefully lifting Jaehaerys before settling him on your hip. He takes to you easily, smiling as his tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your dress's sleeve. The gesture is terribly heartwarming.

"He likes you," she hums, her voice soft as she smooths circles against Jaehaera's back. "That's a good thing. He's particular."

You cannot imagine him being difficult. "Oh, I don't know, he seems forgiving." You sway slightly, the repetitive movement something you vaguely remember your younger siblings liking. "It's been some time since I've seen my youngest brothers."

She presses her lips together in a sympathetic sort of smile. "The morning star takes its time reaching its place."

The phrase means very little to you, but the sentiment of it is clear enough. Something of patience, of things eventually falling into place. "It does."

Helaena smiles again, this time the look a little warmer.

You let your attention return to Jaehaerys. He's still content, one hand holding onto you and the other gripping a wooden toy. "Do you like it?" You're not sure what shocks you more, your words or how much you mean them. "Motherhood..." Your mind forces out the second part of your question without your permission, "Marriage?"

Her lips part, but before she can say anything, the doors behind her creak open. Your hold on Jaehaerys tightens as you turn your head.

The doors are still parted when your eyes lock. You look away from Aegon immediately, focus falling to the babe on your hip. He continues forward, greeting you both before stopping a few paces behind Helaena's seat.

His gaze finds you again, this time his eyes expressing a familiarity you cannot bring yourself to reciprocate. "You're with the twins." Aegon steps past his sister's chair, turning himself towards her. "Helaena, do you need the princess's assistance, or can I steal her from you?"

She straightens slightly, "You can have her. Alyce will be here soon to help put the children to bed."

Your eyebrows draw together skeptically. Why ask Helaena before asking you? "Steal me?" You smooth a hand against Jaehaerys's back. "For what?"

"Every day I hear complaints about Eveningstar."

Your eyes narrow. Of course Eveningstar is acting out. She is being kept farther from you than she has ever been, she has not gotten to fly for some time, and she misses her home. You've been told before that your dragon is complicated, some have even called her spoiled, but you will not tolerate true criticisms of her. "She is under stress and kept in a stable I am not allowed to visit all day and night, of course she's growing restless."

The corner of Aegon's mouth pulls itself upwards. "I know." You blink, unsure where he's going with this. "I also know that she prefers to fly beneath the moon."

You blink. The easy cadence, the grin struggling to not overtake his expression, the way he's watching you. All of it seems to imply something that you've never let yourself hope for. No matter how much favor Aegon has shown you, you've never been offered a chance to see Eveningstar let alone fly her.

"I--I'm not--" The thought of your girl being within reach is almost overwhelmingly wonderful.

You try to focus on the reality of the situation. Technically, you're hostage of war, it'd be impossible to justify letting you near your dragon. It's also late, meaning that being seen alone with Aegon is a danger in its own right. Still, the thought of getting to be with Eveningstar... "Really?"

Aegon gives into his smile, "I'll meet you in an hour."

----

a/n this got really long so i'm splitting it into a third part (and maybe more bc i have a whole expanded arch idea so if this turns into a series that was completely accidental 😭)

Taglist: @thesleepwalker @6ofdreamers @torchbearerkyle @hajimeiwaswife

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 008

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Smut towards the end)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 13.7k

You smiled faintly as you sat on the bed sipping your lemon tea, watching Jacaerys read the paper in his hands. But the smile quickly faded as his expression darkened, his displeasure palpable.

“You would dare insinuate such a thing about me?” His voice was sharp, laced with anger.

Well, it made sense. No one liked being called a bastard or having uncomfortable truths thrust in their face.

“Your tongue could be cut off for this if anyone were to see it,” he said, crumpling the paper in his fist. His glare cut through you like a blade. “Daemon cut off the head of the last man who dared speak this of my siblings and I.”

You held out your hand, silently asking for the paper back, but he ignored your gesture. Instead, he turned and tossed it into the fire. You sighed, leaning back on the bed, watching the parchment curl and blacken as the flames consumed it.

“I am no bastard,” Jacaerys declared, his voice heavy with conviction. “I will be King of Seven Kingdoms one day.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You sighed as the door slammed shut behind Jacaerys, his anger reverberating through the walls like an echo of a storm. You’d expected resistance, perhaps some pushback—but not this. He wasn’t just upset; he was wounded, his pride cut to the quick by what he’d read.

“Well, that went well,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the fire where the crumpled paper now curled and blackened in the flames.

You hadn’t meant to offend him, but it was clear your words had struck too close to home. Perhaps you’d miscalculated, underestimated how deeply the whispers of bastardy weighed on him. You had hoped to appeal to his pragmatic side—to make him see the value in your endeavor, in the power of investing in the commons. Instead, you’d touched a nerve, and now your plans to roll into making headlines were as ashes as the paper he had burned.

Lying back on the bed, you stared at the ceiling, frustration bubbling under your skin. This was a crucial step to it all. Not only would this plan elevate your standing but his as well and after a while once you’ve made enough money from your Miswak business then you’d release the first newspaper. The idea of starting a newspaper had seemed brilliant—a way to not only disseminate knowledge but to secure your own position, perhaps even sway public opinion. But without the proper momentum, it was little more than a pipe dream.

You frowned, replaying the conversation in your mind. Jacaerys’ reaction wasn’t just anger—it was fear. Fear of losing legitimacy, of being reduced to the whispers that haunted his lineage. Perhaps there was another way to approach him, a way to channel that fear into something productive.

Or maybe you needed to reconsider your approach entirely.

With a groan, you sat up and reached for another scrap of parchment. If one plan had burned to ashes, you’d simply write another.

As you dipped the quill into the ink, your mind raced, crafting a new strategy to salvage your ambitions. You would make this happen, whether Jacaerys liked it or not. You had the power to not only dispel the whispers of his supposed bastardy but to elevate him in the eyes of the public. All he needed to do was play the part—charity work, good deeds, the sort of gestures that swayed hearts and silenced doubts. It wasn’t as if you had outright called him a bastard. You had merely hinted at the fact that many questioned his parentage.

The quill hovered over the blank parchment as hesitation crept in. Perhaps appealing to his pride had been the wrong approach. Jacaerys carried the weight of his mother’s legacy and the crown’s fragile legitimacy on his shoulders. Reminding him of those vulnerabilities had backfired spectacularly. 

You leaned back, sighing softly. Rhaenyra was far beyond your reach—her image, tarnished as it was in the eyes of many, would take years to repair. Years you weren’t sure you had. But Jacaerys? With him, there was time. 

Your connection with Jacaerys, tenuous yet genuine, was the strongest bond you had in this foreign and unforgiving world. By chance—or perhaps fate—he was the only one who truly knew where you had come from. That trust, fragile as it was, couldn’t be squandered. Not if he was destined to sit the Iron Throne.

You sighed again, setting the quill down without writing a single word. Instead, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the tension that had built there. Every idea, every alliance, felt like a gamble with stakes higher than you’d ever faced. But that was the game, wasn’t it? Survival, ambition, power—they demanded risks, demanded precision.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

“Enter,” you called, your voice steady despite the weariness that weighed on you.

The door creaked open, revealing a servant carrying a tray with a small meal and a goblet of wine.

“Prince Aemond sends his regards,” the servant announced, setting the tray down on the table. “He hopes you will be well enough to join him in Aegon’s Garden later this evening.”

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. You hadn’t seen Aemond since waking—what had it been? An hour ago? Maybe more. Time blurred when you were preoccupied with conserving energy and dealing with Jacaerys.

“Thank you,” you replied, glancing at the tray but feeling no appetite. “You may take the meal. I’m not hungry. Bring me a bowl instead, and the drink I requested earlier—with mint leaves, please.”

The servant hesitated for a moment, bowing before gathering the untouched tray.

As the door closed behind them, you stared at the flickering flames of the hearth. Aemond’s invitation hung in your mind. Why now? Was he scheming, as he so often did, or was this genuine concern? With Aemond, it was always hard to tell. But whatever his motive, you couldn’t afford to ignore the opportunity. Every move counted, and every player in this game could be a piece—or a threat.

You looked over to the deep purple dress draped neatly over a chair for when you felt well enough to wear it.

A gift from Dragon Stone or that's what Jacaerys said anyways when he gave it to you. 

You looked down, relishing the freshness you felt. You had been bathed in warm water, changed out of your nightgown into a fresh one, and now sat on the bed.

Yet, despite all this, it would not make up for the fact that your toothpaste and your toothbrush were still in King’s Landing. It was fine—you made do by swirling wine in your mouth as a makeshift rinse and chewing on mint leaves for freshness. For hydration, you had your electrolyte drink, but for now, the warm lemon tea in your hands was enough, its soothing tang chasing away the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

You were feeling better. The weakness in your legs persisted, but other than that, you were fine—or close to it. Still, the bed felt uncomfortable beneath you. Your leg bounced restlessly, as though your body rebelled against stillness. There was a gnawing pressure on your chest, a nagging sense that you should be doing something. It felt akin to the dread of an overdue assignment or the guilt of idleness in the face of obligation. Simply lying there felt... wrong.

With a sigh, you picked up the quill again, determined to turn this restless energy into something productive. But before the tip could touch parchment, the door creaked open. Instinctively, you set the quill down as if you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. (Which, in all fairness, you had.)

It was the maid from before, carrying your requested items. You thanked her, dismissing her with a polite nod. Once the door clicked shut behind her, you set the quill and parchment aside, rising from the bed to stretch. Your legs protested slightly, sore but functional. Testing your balance, you took a few tentative steps before making your way to the table.

Grasping the wine goblet, you took a mouthful, swishing it around before spitting it into the bowl the maid had brought. The sharp tang of the wine lingered briefly before you repeated the process once more. Satisfied, you set the goblet down and reached for the one containing your electrolyte drink. The sweet, salty flavor slid down your throat, a welcome balm to your fatigue.

Once finished, you returned to the wine goblet, repeating your makeshift cleansing ritual until the vessel was empty. Finally, you sank back into the bed, cradling your warm lemon tea. Its soothing warmth eased the last remnants of discomfort as you chewed on the mint leaves, savoring their cool freshness.

You tested your voice, speaking softly to gauge its steadiness. It came out rough, but you felt refreshed enough. It would have to do. Your gaze shifted to the dress hanging on the chair, and you weighed your options—stay here in your room, feigning rest, or muster the strength to get moving again.

The decision wasn’t an easy one. Staying in bed meant avoiding any further strain on your still-recovering body, but it also meant stagnation—and you hated feeling idle. On the other hand, getting up and dressed meant facing the world, the people, and their expectations, all of which felt daunting in your current state.

You let out a small sigh, running your fingers through your hair. The pressure on your chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it intensified with the thought of staying put. You didn’t have the luxury of time or inaction. You had plans to set in motion, alliances to strengthen, and a reputation to build.

Your hand lingered on the fabric of the purple dress as you finally stood, testing the weight of your legs beneath you. They trembled slightly, but held steady enough. “One step at a time,” you muttered to yourself, pulling the dress off the chair.

The rich fabric felt heavy in your hands, but it's regal hue gave you a small sense of determination. Dressing wasn’t quick—your movements were sluggish, and your limbs protested with every stretch and pull—but eventually, you managed to fasten the last clasp. You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale, but presentable. That would have to suffice.

You walked to the door, resting your hand on the handle. For a moment, you hesitated. Would they see through you, sense your exhaustion beneath the polished exterior? Shaking the thought away, you straightened your spine. Let them. You would have to endure worse than this.

Pulling the door open, you stepped into the corridor. The faint sound of activity echoed through the halls, servants bustling about their duties. You paused for a moment, deciding your destination. Aegon’s Garden, as per Aemond’s invitation? Or perhaps you could seek out Jacaerys again, try a softer approach this time?

Your steps carried you forward before you’d fully decided, the chill of the stone floor beneath your feet grounding you as you made your way.

As you moved through the corridors, you noticed the occasional servant pause to glance your way. Their eyes darted toward your dress, your hair, the faint pallor in your cheeks. You met their gazes with a calm, steady expression, your head held high despite the weight pressing on your chest. You couldn’t afford to look weak, even if every step felt heavier than the last.

By the time you reached the courtyard that led to Aegon’s Garden, the chill of the air nipped at your skin. You hesitated, clutching the edge of your dress as a gust of wind teased at the fabric. The garden lay ahead, its labyrinthine pathways lined with flowers and in the center of it all an obelisk. You lifted a brow looking at it before humming and walking the path. Aemond’s figure was unmistakable, standing near a stone bench with his hands clasped behind his back. He was waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as you approached. The sound of your footsteps on the stone path drew his attention, and he turned, his single eye sharp and calculating as it swept over you. He said nothing at first, his gaze lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle.

“You look better,” Aemond finally said, his tone neutral, though there was a faint trace of amusement in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

The wind nipped at your skin, making you shiver as you crossed your arms. "Yeah, me neither," you muttered, shaking your head. "You didn’t think to meet somewhere inside?”

“I like the wind,” Aemond replied, his tone laced with a small jest. His lips twitched as if holding back a smirk. You rolled your eyes and sat down on the cold stone bench, wincing slightly as the chill seeped through your dress.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. You let your gaze wander across the garden, there were large columns all around and grand statues of Dragons. It looked so familiar yet so different. You couldn’t place it but you swear you had seen something like this before. 

“I saw my nephew leaving your room,” Aemond said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was calm, measured. “He looked… irate.”

You turned to him, your mind scrambling for a response. What could you say that wouldn’t give too much away? After a brief pause, you shrugged. “A petty argument.”

That was technically true. Of course, the matter had been far more than petty, but Aemond didn’t need to know the intricacies of your interactions with Jacaerys.

“About?” he pressed, his curiosity sharp, probing.

You tilted your head, giving him a side-eye. “Curious, are we? You know, curiosity killed the cat.”

Aemond’s brow arched slightly, and he gave a faint scoff. “Your sayings need refinement if you ever intend to pass yourself off as a scholar.”

“Oh, alright then,” you retorted with mock indignation, turning your body to face him fully, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “How about this one: ‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’” Nothing like a good bit of Shakespeare, even if he wasn’t considered a philosopher.

Aemond coughed, but you weren’t fooled. The cough was covering a laugh, and you couldn’t help but grin at his reaction.

“No? It doesn’t work?” you teased, leaning forward just slightly.

He met your gaze, one brow raised in that familiar, almost condescending way of his. “It’s not the worst,” he admitted, though his tone was begrudging.

You laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded. “Well, then. Best to write it down before it’s lost to time. I’ll even autograph it for you. That way, when I’m hailed as the greatest scholar this world has ever seen, you can boast to your future children that you have an original work of mine.”

Aemond’s lips twitched again, this time leaning closer to a smile. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

“Always,” you quipped, lifting your chin slightly. “But then, isn’t ambition what makes life interesting?”

Aemond’s eye gleamed with something unreadable, a mixture of intrigue and quiet approval. “I thought you said danger made life interesting, which is it?”

You turned away from him tapping your lip. “Both.” He breathed out a small laugh. 

Once more, a quiet silence settled over you both, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You glanced at Aemond, only to find him lost in thought, his eye fixed on the distance.

Suddenly, a daunting realization struck you, and your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my goodness!” you gasped, covering your mouth with your hand.

Aemond turned his attention to you, a faint crease forming between his brows. “What is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

You let your hand drop, shaking your head as a disbelieving smile tugged at your lips. “You know what I just remembered?”

He hummed lightly, a sign he was listening, though he gave no indication of guessing.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse. You let out a short, humorless laugh before looking at him. “Your mother is supposed to take me to the Sept today to meet a septon.”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eye. “Has my mother roped you into the Faith? I must admit, I did not take you for one to be swayed so easily.”

“This… this is just perfect.” You threw your hands up in mock celebration, the gesture stiff and exasperated. “Mistake after mistake. God, what is she going to think of me? She already turned her shoulder to me when those rumors went around.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound low and dry as he leaned back on the bench, resting one arm along the backrest. “They’re not rumors if it really happened,” he said, his tone laced with mild amusement.

Your jaw dropped, and you turned toward him, pointing an accusatory finger. “Excuse me? That is not the point here! And in any case you’re not helping. Goodness gracious, what is she going to think when I arrive back at King's Landing with the very son she thinks I slept with!?”

“We did.” Aemond offered no help. 

“Stop!” You stood abruptly, brushing past Aemond. Your cheeks burned, but you ignored the heat, pushing it down as best you could.

“To King’s Landing, then?” you asked, turning to face him with a composed expression. “If you would be so kind.” 

Aemond gave a small nod and rose to join you. The two of you walked through the halls of Dragonstone, the air heavy with the scent of stone and sea. The architecture here was starkly different from that of the Red Keep. It captivated you—the use of arches, intricate and advanced, drew your attention most. While the Red Keep was impressive, Dragonstone’s arches were a feat of engineering you hadn’t seen before.

Columns stood tall, carved into the forms of dragons and other mythical beings. Every corner seemed alive with artistic expression: mosaics depicting Valyrian legends, frescoes painted in rich hues, and relief carvings that told stories you could only guess at.

“Who made this place?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence as your gaze swept over the intricate designs.

“It was a Valyrian stronghold long before House Targaryen settled here,” Aemond replied evenly, his eyes following yours. “It has stood for centuries. The name of its creator has been lost to time.”

You hummed thoughtfully, running your fingers lightly over the edge of a carved column. “I see. That explains it.”

Aemond glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Explain what?”

“I’ve never seen architecture like this in King’s Landing,” you said, your voice tinged with admiration. “The Red Keep has its carvings, sure, but nothing close to this scale or intricacy. It reminds me of…” You trailed off, your mind reaching for the right words.

Roman architecture came to mind—grandeur mixed with purpose. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

As you turned a corner, your gaze caught on a large sphinx adorning the entrance to what could only be the Great Hall. Its imposing presence made you stop in your tracks.

“The Gift of the Nile…” you murmured to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips before you turned to Aemond. “Can we go to Old Valyria?”

He lifted a brow, clearly surprised by your request.

“I’d like to see more architecture like this,” you explained, gesturing to the intricate carvings. “And maybe—just maybe—they had advanced systems, like waterworks, that could help me…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to sound too eager.

Aemond’s response was immediate. “No.”

Your face fell. “Oh. Why not?”

“It’s forbidden,” he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?”

“The death of Princess Aerea Targaryen,” he replied.

“Who’s that?” you asked, genuinely intrigued.

Aemond stopped walking, his expression darkening slightly as he considered his next words. “Aerea was a Targaryen princess who claimed Balerion the Black Dread and flew to Old Valyria. When she returned, she was…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She brought something back with her. Something that killed her in the most gruesome way imaginable.”

You frowned, your mind racing with questions. “What did she bring back?”

“No one knows for certain,” Aemond said, his tone sharper now. “But whatever it was, it was enough to deem Old Valyria cursed. No one who ventures there returns and by law, anyone who attempts will be executed.”

You bit your lip, looking back at the sphinx and the grandeur around you. If Old Valyria held answers, it was clear those answers would remain just out of reach.

Afterwards you walked in silence with him. It was a shame they didn’t build a water system inside Dragon Stone, but then you’d suppose you wouldn't have to create one. You tried not to feel too dejected, but it was a shame. What a marvel it would be to see the place or origins for Dragons and the place with this kind of architecture.

As both you and Aemond walked a door opened and out came the younger brother…Lu—something. You were horrible with names, and then an even younger brother followed. This one is unfamiliar to you. 

“Nephews.” Aemond greeted curtly. It was clear he did not hold fond feelings for them, if the first night you saw them together wasn’t enough to confirm then this sure is. Aemond did not hold back the crude look in his eye, not even for the little one. 

“Uncle.” The oldest one responded, holding his little brother behind him. 

If it wasn’t for the situation you’d be smiling at the act. How cute. 

“My Lady.” The older brother nodded in your direction and you smiled back. 

“My Prince?” Was that the proper title to use?

“Lucerys.” He quickly added. 

“No I knew that, I was just wondering if that’s the proper title.” Had to make a quick save. It was rude to not remember people. You smiled and looked down at the little boy. “And who is this?” You bent down to his level looking at him. 

He—no Lucerys— gave a flat smile. “My younger brother Joffrey.”

You looked towards Joffrey. “How cute. Hello.” 

The young boy only gave you a look before looking up towards his big brother. You breathed out a smile before standing up straight once more.  

“I presume you leave back to King’s Landing?” Lucerys questioned you and your eyes looked back towards him. You’d call him preceptive but it doesn’t take a genius to know you and Aemond were leaving. 

You nodded. “Yes, thank you for the hospitality and the dress. It was very kind of you.” 

“T’was the courtesy of my older brother. DragonStone welcomes you.” Lucerys responded. It was very diplomatic in the way he spoke. It was strange seeing a boy of his age speak so formally. You felt as if your own vocabulary wasn’t enough. 

“Oh, yes, Prince Jacaerys. He is very kind. Where is he, may I ask? I’d like to bid him a farewell before I leave. It will be quite some time before I see him or you again.” If things went the way you predicted, you wouldn’t see them until Rhaenrya’s coronation, which you hoped was a ways away.

“He is in the middle of a lesson with our Maester.” A shame. You needed to apologize but if you pressed you were sure to lift some brows. In any case you needed to return to King’s Landing. A nervous feeling settled in your stomach imagining Alicent’s reaction.   

“I see. Well please give him my regards and many thanks for the dress.” You nodded and left with Aemond. The walk down the stairs was silent like most of your moments with Aemond. You looked out to the sea and relished the breeze even if it did chill you. Realistically this would be the last time you’d be on Dragonstone. God you wanted to live here, even if you did get sick here. The fresh air was worth it.

After another thirty minutes of you trying to get onto Vhagar both you and Aemond were flying back to King’s Landing. The ride was silent. You felt awkward just sitting there hanging onto him. 

“Tell me how you claimed Vhagar?” If there was one thing all men loved, it was to talk about themselves. Aemond seemed particularly prideful about his house and of course his dragon. Though what you really wanted to ask was what happened to his eye, but of course because you were raised with manners you didn’t ask.

You felt him inhale deeply before exhaling. “I was ten. I went to the funeral of my aunt Laena.” You pursed your lips. Now where had you heard that name? Goodness, you really needed to start trying to learn people’s names. 

“Aegon and my nephews made jests about how I did not have a dragon. They went as far as to find a pig and give it wings.” You exhaled slowly trying not to laugh. When pigs fly is a common saying. They basically told him he'll get a dragon when pigs fly. That was funny. Though you supposed it evened out. Aemond now rides the largest dragon. “When my aunt passed I took the opportunity and claimed her. I flew her that night and nearly fell off.” You looked towards the side imagining flying a dragon by yourself. 

No way. You would definitely fall off. 

“My cousins, Baela and Rhaena felt robbed. Rhaena to date still has no dragon and wanted to claim her mother’s dragon.” Oh. It was in the conversation you had with Jacaerys. Laena was their mother. You lifted a brow, not that he could see it, but essentially he stole an heirloom. 

If that happened to you, you’d fight with him. Not even a full year of your mother passing and you stole my dragon!? Yeah, you’re just asking for a beating.

“I fought off my cousins and nephews. I lost my eye that night.” Woah! Two for one. The tale of how he claimed Vhagar and how he lost his eye. Nice. “Lucerys cut me across my face and now I lack an eye.” 

Well now it made sense. His curtness towards Lucerys and the little one…Joffrey? Well in all honesty you would’ve done the same. Maybe not cut out the man’s eye, but definitely would’ve given him a good beating.

“All because you claimed Vhagar?” Somewhat justified in your eyes, but right now in the air, you need to cater to this man as much as possible. You had no idea what he was thinking half the time. 

Aemond nodded and you hummed. 

“Would you have done it?” He questioned and thought about it.

“Truthfully?” Aemond nodded and you looked off to the white fluffy clouds. “Yeah. I probably wouldn’t have taken your eye, that was excessive, but you would’ve had your arse handed to you, because what do you mean you stole my mother’s dragon? I would've been mad as hell.” You shrugged, hugging him tighter as Vhagar shifted. 

“A dragon chooses their rider. Vhagar chose me.” You felt Aemond tense under you. Clearly this was something that still affected him today.

“Well yeah, but I mean, the week of the funeral. Way harsh, no?” You looked over his shoulder to look at him, occasionally closing your eyes as his hair blew into them.  

“I saw an opportunity and I took it.” Aemond looked over before looking forward again.  

“Well you can’t argue with that I guess.” He did have a point. You suppose if you were desperate enough to prove yourself, you’d take any opportunity you’d have.

As King's Landing came into full view, you leaned forward with a hopeful glance at Aemond.

“Can you drop me off directly at the Keep? I’d really rather not go through the streets.”

“No.”

“Wha-!?” You gawked at him, incredulous. “What if I catch some horrible disease and die? That’d be my blood on your hands!”

“How tragic,” he replied dryly, not even sparing you a glance.

You huffed, and leaned to look at him over his shoulder. “Fine. Then can you at least take the blame for this? The queen might actually call for my head.”

“No.”

You gave a sigh of frustration. “You’re insufferable.” Your grip around his waist loosened. “What if just kill myself right now? Drop me off Vhagar.” 

Aemond’s head snapped toward you, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Because I refused to fly you straight to the Red Keep and shield you from my mother’s wrath when it was you who got sick, begged me to take you to Dragonstone, and then decided to swim in the sea, catching a fever and prolonging our stay?”

“Yes,” you replied simply, fighting back a grin as you teasingly loosened your hold, feigning a dramatic gesture of letting go.

Aemond sighed, his eyes narrowing in a mix of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, unable to hide the victorious smile that spread across your face.

Vhagar landed gracefully atop Aegon’s Hill, her massive claws gripping the stone with practiced ease. You slid off her saddle and onto the top wall of the Red Keep, your boots meeting the solid surface with a soft thud. The wind tugged at your hair and clothes, and you took a moment to steady yourself, glancing down at the sprawling city below.

“Grateful yet?” Aemond asked as he dismounted, his tone tinged with dry humor.

“Ecstatic,” you replied sarcastically, brushing nonexistent dust off your sleeves as you turned toward him. “Though I’m fairly certain your mother will find a reason to scold me for arriving this way.”

Aemond smirked, unbothered. “If my mother knew half the things you’d done recently, she’d have more than just scolding in mind.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your cloak. “Well, we’d better not keep her waiting. Lead the way, oh noble escort.”

Aemond arched a brow but said nothing, motioning for you to follow as he began descending the narrow stone staircase leading into the Keep.

The hallways inside the Red Keep were a stark contrast to the airy heights you’d just left. Shadows danced along the walls, illuminated by the flickering glow of torches. Servants scurried past, casting curious glances in your direction but keeping their heads low.

“You’d think by now they’d be used to seeing me, it's been like two months, near three,” you murmured, catching a maid’s startled gaze before she quickly looked away.

“They’re not accustomed to guests who arrive atop dragons and make a habit of disrupting court life,” Aemond quipped, his steps steady and purposeful.

You shot him a sidelong glance but chose not to respond, instead focusing on the task ahead. The weight of your pending audience with the Queen sat heavily in your chest, and you couldn’t shake the nagging worry about what awaited you.

As you approached the familiar double doors of the Queen’s private chambers, you paused, looking at Aemond. “Should I start with an apology or wait until she accuses me of something first?”

“Start with silence,” Aemond replied with a smirk, stepping forward to knock on the door. “That is what Aegon does.” 

“I’m not Aegon. That's her son, and I don’t go around screwing anyone I see or from what I’ve heard.” You looked up towards Aemond who had a knowing look and a raised brow. “Okay it was one time and, by technicality, there was no ‘screwing’” You put air quotation marks around screwing. Did he know what those meant?

“My mother will not see it as such and neither will the Seven.” There was a mocking undertone and your top lip lifted in slight annoyance and disgust. 

“Thanks for the reminder, Your Grace,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to add it to the list of things I’ll repent for in my nonexistent confession to the Seven.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or exasperation, you couldn’t tell. “You could try feigning humility. It might soften her glare.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the cool stone wall. “Humility doesn’t suit me. It does not befit the greatest scholar that ever was and ever will be.”

Before Aemond could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Ser Criston Cole standing guard just inside. His sharp gaze swept over you and then to Aemond before he gave a slight nod. “The Queen had looked for you for some time My Lady” 

Ser Criston always looked at you as if he had some problem with you. Well if you had to take an oath of celibacy, you’d think you’d be a little grumpy too. Sex depravity is a horrid thing, especially once you’ve had it. You looked over Ser Criston with a small smile. A good looking man. No way he was a virgin. He had to miss the action. Probably the reason he was such a stick in the mud.

“Her grace is in her chambers. I’m sure she will be pleased to see you.” He spoke but it was clear his attention was on your companion. 

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, straightening up and smoothing down your cloak as Aemond motioned for you to enter first.

Inside, Queen Alicent sat near a roaring fire, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her expression was calm but guarded, the same look she always wore when addressing someone she didn’t entirely trust—or perhaps someone who constantly tested her patience.

“Your Grace,” you greeted with a small curtsy, inwardly cringing at how stiff it felt.

Alicent’s eyes flicked to Aemond briefly before settling on you. “You’ve been absent for some time,” she began, her tone measured. “I trust you have an explanation.”

You opened your mouth, but Aemond cut in smoothly, stepping to your side. “It was my doing, Mother. I took her to Dragonstone.”

Oh thank god.

Alicent’s brow arched ever so slightly as she looked between the two of you. “To Dragonstone? For what purpose?”

“Rest and recovery,” Aemond replied. “She fell ill during her stay and required quieter surroundings.”

You glanced at him, thanking him ten times over in your head. Alicent’s expression softened just enough to make you think she might buy it—or at least not press further.

“And are you well now?” Alicent asked, turning her focus back to you.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied swiftly, forcing a polite smile as you suppressed the nerves bubbling under your skin.

A tense silence hung in the room as Alicent gestured to the chairs by the fire. “Sit. We have much to discuss.” Her eyes shifted momentarily toward Aemond, her meaning clear. “Aemond, you may go now.”

You glanced at him, searching his face for any sign of resistance. Instead, Aemond offered a subtle sigh, his lips pressing into a thin line before he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The heavy thud of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in your chest.

As you took a seat by the fire, Alicent’s unwavering gaze pinned you in place. Her expression was stern, her composure sharp as a blade. Whatever this was about, it was clear you were in for more than a casual conversation.

“Your Grace,” you began, hoping your voice didn’t betray the apprehension building inside you.

“The results,” Alicent interrupted, her tone curt. “I want them. I have extended your time nearly double what was promised.”

The weight of her demand pressed on you like a stone, and despite yourself, you flinched slightly under her intense gaze. Your heart pounded as the tension in the room thickened.

“Of course,” you managed, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. “I finished them before I fell ill. Shall I fetch them?”

Alicent’s lips thinned, her expression a mixture of patience and scrutiny. “Yes. And make it swift. I will not wait any longer.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” you murmured, standing from your seat with a small bow. You moved toward the door with measured steps, conscious of Alicent’s sharp eyes following your every movement.

As soon as you stepped out and the door clicked shut behind you, you allowed yourself a small, shaky breath while you placed your hand over your chest feeling your heartbeat. The tension in the room had been stifling, and you felt as though you’d been holding your breath the entire time.

“I’m gonna have a heart attack.” You murmured to yourself. From the corner of your eye you saw Ser Criston Cole. He was looking at you from the corner of his eye. You stood up straight and for a brief and awkward moment you were both left there looking at each other, before you cleared your throat and excused yourself.

Your mind raced as you walked down the hall, your footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floors. The results. They were complete, yes, but presenting them to Alicent meant more than just handing over neatly written lines on parchment. The stakes were higher than ever. If anyone found out you lied on those reports, it was your head.

Of course there was also the possibility that she wouldn’t like what you had to say and it would be your head either way. 

Oh god. You were going to die. Not even King Viserys would save you, even if you were keeping him alive, if he found out you were testing the validity of his grandchildren, he would probably have you burned alive or something. 

Worse! What if he sentenced you to one of those horrible medieval torture decvices you’ve heard so much about. Death by boiling would be crazy.

Not to mention Alicent already wasn’t happy. She had extended your time, yes, but it was not an act of kindness—it was a test of patience. A queen’s patience was not something to trifle with, and you knew you were on thin ice.

You felt like crying, you were so scared. You had so much to live for! You can’t die! 

You reached your chambers, your heart still thudding with a mix of anxiety and determination. As you entered, your eyes immediately found the bundle of parchment resting on your desk. The hours you’d poured into writing and revising the report played through your mind like a film reel. Every decision you’d made—every word choice, every phrasing—suddenly felt like it could make or break you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the papers, your thoughts spiraling. What if she found you were lying? What if she dismissed your work entirely, calling it unfit or, worse, a waste of her time?

No. You shook your head, taking a steadying breath. This wasn’t the time for self-doubt. You had poured everything into this, and you knew the work was good. It had to be.

You straightened the papers, smoothing them with the flat of your hand before pressing them to your chest. As you turned back toward the door, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your reflection looked pale, tired, but resolute.

With a final deep breath, you stepped back into the hall and began the walk to the queen’s chamber. This time, your steps were steadier, your grip on the papers firm. You were scared, so damn scared because this could actually be your last day here, or anywhere! However, you knew this was necessary. You cannot be the best there ever was if you take no risks. If this was a test, you would meet it head-on. You had no other choice.

As you reached the door and suddenly you froze. You clasped your hands and looked up. “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please. Please let me come out of this alive.” You shut your eyes trying to pray harder. “If I’m still alive by the time this is over, I swear anything I ever accomplish will be in the name of humanity…” You paused thinking. “And not just for myself.” 

You opened your eyes exhaling before you looked over to see Ser Criston Cole giving you a very judgmental look. You gave a half-hearted smile like she didn’t just witness you begging for your life to be spared. Finally summoning all your courage you knocked on the door and put on a soft smile. A sense of resolve settled over you. Whatever awaited you inside, you would face it with as much poise as you could muster. When Alicent’s voice called for you to enter, you pushed the door open, papers in hand, and met her gaze with a calm, composed expression.

Suddenly you felt dread come over you as Otto turned to face you. You bowed begging in your head. “Lord hand.” 

Otto’s sharp eyes scrutinized you like a hawk appraising its prey. You stood there, trying not to wilt under the weight of his presence, your fingers tightening slightly around the parchments as if they were a lifeline.

“Lady—” he paused, clearly searching for your name, or perhaps choosing not to use it, “I trust the results you carry are worth the extended time granted by Her Grace.”

“Of course, Lord Hand,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the rising dread clawing at your chest. “I assure you, the work has been thorough.”

Alicent, seated gracefully by the fire, gestured toward the chairs. “Sit,” she commanded.

You hesitated only a moment before obeying, lowering yourself carefully into the seat. Otto remained standing, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room, while Alicent’s measured gaze never left your face.

“I hope you understand,” Alicent began, her tone cool but laced with an edge, “that this task was not a mere courtesy. The truth, no matter how unpleasant, is paramount.”

You nodded quickly. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand completely.”

Otto stepped closer, his boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. “Then let us waste no more time. Present your findings.”

Your hands trembled ever so slightly as you extended the parchments, and you cursed yourself for showing even a flicker of weakness. Alicent took them without a word, her expression inscrutable as she began to read.

The silence that followed was excruciating. You fought to keep your breathing even, your mind racing through every possible scenario. Would Alicent be relieved? Angry? Would Otto see through the careful lies woven into your report and call you out on them?

Your thoughts spiraled further into paranoia. What if they both knew? What if this entire meeting was a trap, and guards were waiting just outside the door for Otto’s command to drag you to the dungeons?

Had you not been fearing for your life, you might have noticed the confusion flickering across Alicent and Otto’s faces. Had you been calmer, you might have realized they had little choice but to accept your results. Had you been thinking clearly, you would have understood that the greatest danger was simply that they might not like your findings—something you already suspected.

“Explain your findings thoroughly,” Otto demanded, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

Your mind stuttered to a halt. “I’m sorry?”

“Explain,” he repeated, his tone cool and precise, “how exactly you arrived at this conclusion. Elaborate on your methodology and the mechanics of the equation you used to ensure the accuracy of your results.”

“Oh, right. Well…” Your mind scrambled for composure, and you began to speak quickly, the words spilling out as if sheer volume could mask your nerves. “A Punnett square operates as a combinatorial matrix designed to elucidate the probabilistic genotypic and phenotypic outcomes of sexual reproduction by modeling the allelic interplay of parental gametes. This construct, named after the eminent geneticist Reginald Punnett, serves as a heuristic device for demystifying the stochastic distribution of hereditary units, otherwise known as alleles.”

You barely paused for breath before diving deeper. “This, of course, extends from Gregor Mendel’s foundational principles of inheritance. Mendelian genetics provides the framework by which—”

“Enough.” Otto’s interruption was calm but firm, and you instantly snapped your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you realized you had started rambling.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. “You are confident in these results?” she asked quietly, but there was an edge to her tone that made your stomach twist.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “The methodology is sound, and I am certain of the outcome.”

You hoped they wouldn’t notice how tightly you clutched the edges of the parchment or how your knuckles had turned white. You had no choice but to double down and hope for the best.

Both Alicent and Otto looked towards each other, a thousand words exchanged between the both of them in a single look. “The Citadel hosts the best scholars in Westeros. I’d like to have your work transferred. This of course could be a grand opportunity for you. No other woman has been granted such a thing. A word from the Hand and Queen and of course from the head of House Hightower, the Citadel would make an exception.” 

They wanted to check your work. You were in a dilemma. There was a chance that you were being offered could boost you forward. Make a name for yourself now…but risk throwing away everything else, or stand your ground and trust your play in the long run would pay off.

“I can’t. It’s not possible.” You chose to stick to your guns. Hopefully it would yield its proper reward. “Forgive me but…your technology is not advanced enough. For any more accurate findings, testing blood for example…the technology does not exist yet.”

“Yet you can definitively say that these results are accurate.”

“With all due respect, Lord Hand. I have extensive schooling in this matter.” Debatable, but you certainly had way more than they did. “You do not possess the mathematical formulas, or as I said, blood testing. The phenotypic possibilities alone took me days to narrow. I have checked my work and…” You inhaled standing up straight and puffing your chest out a bit. You wanted to echo confidence, even if you didn’t feel it.

Fake it till you make it.

“Regardless of what you want to hear, the children of Crown Princess Rhaenrya fathered by her lawful husband; Laenor Valyeron, are legitimate. I wish I could give you the results you want, and rest assured the deed my Queen, Alicent has done for me, I swear it to you, will never be forgotten. I am at your service, but you asked for the truth, and now I will deliver it.” Alicent looked towards you with a cold gaze echoing her father. 

Gods, you were so dead.

Alicent let out a sigh, her expression unreadable, and waved you off with a dismissive gesture. You didn’t wait for her to change her mind, quickly making yourself scarce. As you stepped out, the weight of the ordeal seemed to hit you all at once. Your legs felt like they might give out beneath you, and you leaned against the closed door for support. Tilting your head back, you mouthed a silent “thank you” to whatever divine force had decided to spare you—for now.

You began the walk to your chambers, craving nothing more than some well-earned rest. Every step felt heavier, exhaustion threatening to drag you down. But just as your sanctuary came into view, a voice called your name.

So close… yet so far.

“King Viserys requests your presence,” the messenger announced, their tone formal but clipped.

You froze, your temper dangerously close to slipping. A wave of heat surged through you, your hand twitching involuntarily as frustration bubbled to the surface. “Now?”

“I would presume, my lady.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Fine. Send for Dyana. Tell her to see to my morning needs and prepare my chambers immediately, and a bath. I smell like a dragon.”

The messenger gave a respectful nod. “Of course.”

With another sigh, you turned on your heel, setting off toward the King’s chambers. Rest would have to wait.

The King's chambers were quieter than usual, the crackling fire in the hearth providing the only sound as you entered. King Viserys, looking markedly stronger than when you'd last seen him, was sitting upright in his chair, his once-diminished face now flushed with color. His eyes still held the weariness of his age, but there was a gleam of vitality in them that hadn’t been there before.

You bowed deeply, careful not to show any surprise at his improved state. “Your Grace.”

“Come closer, child,” he said warmly, his voice much steadier than you expected. He gestured to the chair beside him, and you moved to sit, noting how much more alert he seemed than he had in weeks.

Well he was well enough to walk around now, so it made it sense. 

“Was your trip with my daughter successful?” he spoke, his gaze thoughtful. You gave a smile and nodded. “It was. I am simply waiting for the leaves to dry. It should be another three days till it is ready for recreational use.” 

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair. “Wonderfull, what benefits will it give?” 

“Uhh well in moderation: pain management, stress relief, improved sleep, appetite stimulation, muscle relaxation and spasm relief among other things. How is the drink working for you? And the lavender of course.” You did your best to use fancy words for all the side-effects one may have while being high. 

“The drink is wonderful, I feel rejuvenated and the lavender not only helps me sleep but helps me smell better as well. What is it that you use to scent yourself? You have such a distinct smell about you.” King Viserys’s eyes glinted with interest.

You smiled. “I use soaps from my native homeland and perfumes occasionally, but naturally because I have lived in such a…” You thought for a second trying to phrase it as gently as you could. “Different environment, I naturally smell very different from people here in King’s Landing or Westeros as a whole.”

“Very interesting…may I see them?” Viserys smiled slightly, a more genuine warmth in his gaze.

If only he knew that you had discovered the bastardy of his grandchildren and had you thought less, you would’ve exposed it. 

“To smell, yes, to use…no. Your skin is very sensitive. I wouldn’t want to make it worse, but I can make something similar, gentler even. Until then I would suggest if your skin bothers you, take baths in warm water mixed with breast milk. It works wonders for the skin. No soap needed. Simply lay in it for five to ten minutes. Helps repair the skin.” You smiled. Goats milk soap is always easy to make, besides you would run out of soaps from your modern world (unfortunately) and need to find a replacement.

The King’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Breast milk? What babes drink?” A small, incredulous smile played across his lips.

“Yes.” you replied, standing straighter. “The human body, particularly a woman’s body, is incredible. Did you know that when breast milk mixes with a baby’s saliva it can trigger changes in the milk composition based on the baby's current immune needs, essentially signaling to the mother's body to produce more specific antibodies to fight potential infections the baby might be facing. Also baths in breast milk does wonders for the skin. It is why maesters or doctors, where I come from, recommend you bathe your baby in breast milk at least one or two days a week.” You caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes and added,“It prevents babies from getting sick is what I’m saying. A woman’s body will change the way the milk is made to better fit the needs of the baby so it survives.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowing thoughtfully. “Really? Where did you learn this?” 

“My home.” you said softly, your gaze drifting briefly to the window. “Our practice of medicine is far more advanced than anything here.” 

“Would you ever be able to bring those practices here?”  he asked, his tone laced with a genuine curiosity.

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “As advanced as they are from where I come from? No. I’m not educated enough to fully treat serious illnesses or perform surgery and things of the sort, but I am pretty good at basic things.”

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. “Could you go back and bring this knowledge?”

Your smile faltered, and you exhaled slowly. “Well if I went home, I would mostly never return, like ever.”

“Why?”

“Truth be told, I don’t know.” You shrugged with a flat smile on your face. “I was in an accident and when I awoke, I was here. I gave up trying to go home about a month ago.” You smiled sadly looking at the ground. “I do miss my family. My old life. I wish I had gotten to study more, earn a degree.”

Viserys watched you intently, his features softening. “Sit, please,” he said gently. “Tell me more. Quite a peculiar place you come from.”

You leaned back into the chair, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “What would you like to know?”

“Women, where you’re from—are they allowed education as you are?”

“Yes.” you replied, nodding. “It is a norm to be educated. It is an unsaid social norm and if you are not, people will look down on you. In fact in recent years, women are more educated than men, they earn higher wages and because of that they no longer need to depend on a man. It is thought that because for years money is all men brought to the table they did not develop enough and now women are demanding more from them and truth is, most men can’t because emotionally, they’re nothing more than children. Women do not want to be mothers to their husbands.” 

“Really?” His voice carried a mix of fascination and skepticism. “How did this come to be?”

“Well…women gained rights,” you said simply. “Eventually after centuries of being oppressed and men believing they were the superior gender. It all came to a head and women demanded rights and equality. Women have all the same potential, maybe even more to do what men can do if given a fair chance. You’ve seen it with me, I have done the impossible, and I will continue to do so.” You straightened in your seat, determination gleaming in your eyes. “There have been hundreds of generations of women who have been put down and minimized that led to me. I must and I will amount to more. Their struggle and sacrifice for me, will not be in vain.”

The King’s expression softened further, and a faint smile curved his lips. “You have a very headstrong character. I only wish you had come sooner. My daughter, Rhaenrya, would’ve gotten along splendidly with you. She had a similar drive. Tell me…” His eyes dimmed, a shadow of grief passing over his face.  “How are births handled where you are from? If the babe is stuck as an example.” 

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Well it depends, it can be maneuvered within the stomach so that the head faces the opening or if it requires more, then a c-section is promptly ordered.” 

“A c-section?” he echoed, leaning forward slightly.

“A cesarean delivery,” you clarified. “It’s a surgical procedure where the baby is delivered through an incision in the mother’s abdomen and uterus. It’s done when a natural birth would endanger the mother or child.”

“Does it kill the mother?”

“Not usually,” you replied. “While there are risks, they’re minimal with proper care. Most mothers recover well and can even conceive again.”

“Do the women not bleed out?”

“Excessive bleeding can happen, but it’s rare for it to be fatal,” you reassured him.

Viserys sighed deeply, his gaze distant. “I truly wish you had come sooner.”

“Yeah…” You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

He straightened in his chair, the melancholy lifting slightly. “Well, in any case, I’m sure you have things to attend to. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you.” You rose but paused near the door. “May I ask something of Your Grace?”

“Of course,” he said, motioning for you to continue.

“I’d like to propose a few ideas to the council—in, say, a fortnight?”

He smiled faintly. “I see no issue with it. I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, my King.” You curtsied before leaving, already anticipating the comfort of your bed and the luxury of brushing your teeth properly once again.

You walked down the halls. Why the King had hopped for your early arrival, you couldn’t say. You felt bad for the old man, nearly stabbed him in the back and he didn’t even know it. Old people were so cute. 

You stepped into your room seeing your set up. Sweet scents and a fan still working great. 

Suddenly you turned and you nearly crashed into something. “Oh! Jump scare.” You murmured, turning away from him. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your chambers?” He corrected.

“Right, grammar police here.” You rolled your eyes walking towards your setup Dyana had brought. Along with your bath. Hopefully Aemond was smart enough to sneak back in without anyone seeing. “What are you doing in my chamber, your grace?” You mocked his accent while tying your hair back.  

“What did my mother want with you?” Aemond walked behind you before sitting on your bed. 

Your face contorted before you pulled him off it. “Egh! Get off my bed! Go sit on a chair like a normal person. What’s wrong with you? You smell like Vhagar.”

“As do you.” Aemond countered looking down at you and you in turn raised a brow. 

“Okay you don’t see me sitting on my bed now do you? Outside clothes never touch my bed, and they shouldn’t touch yours either. It’s unsanitary. Have some standards. A bed is a sacred space.” Aemond only gave a scoff.

“You are a dramatic woman.” Aemond spoke and you gave no answer. “What did my mother ask for?” Aemond sat on a chair watching you. 

“Some plans she asked me to make a couple weeks ago.” You said dismissively turning and getting a small soap from your suitcase, Aemond’s watchful eye never leaving you. 

“What plans?” He pressed looking at you as you washed your hands.

“Nothing too important that you need to worry about.” This man was too nosey for your liking. Always with the questions this one.

“Really? You seemed as if you were about to cry while praying to whatever gods it is you have before entering the room.” Aemond mocked it with that concerning smirk that never went away. 

“Ugh, who told you that?” You turned and smiled, wetting your toothbrush while Aemond lifted a brow. “Ooh was it that delicious looking knight? Y’know if he just kept his mouth shut he would’ve been perfect.”

“Ser Criston has taken an oath of celibacy for life.” Aemond again watching you curious as to what you were doing.

“Men can never truly uphold something like that. I bet you I can get him to break it, if he hasn;t already. But it looks like he has a big mouth, so….” You humbled picking up your toothpaste, slapping a small glob on your toothbrush before wetting the brush again. “Where’s he from anyways, he’s totally my type. Maybe I can snag myself another one.” You began brushing and foam formed in your mouth while Aemond furrowed his brows in confusion ever so slightly. 

“What is that?” He asked and you rolled your eyes. 

You spit out some of the foam. “Can’t you read? It says Crest 3d white. Fluoride anticavity toothpaste. 100% whitening. It’s what keeps my teeth so white and my mouth clean. Duh.” You continue to brush your teeth and your tongue. 

“Whitening?” He questioned standing up, picking up the toothpaste and smelling it. He pulled back a bit. Strong scent, too strong.

You spit out white foam again. “Y’know every time I go to the dentist they say I have perfect teeth, I have to keep up my streak.” Even if you are nevering going to see another dentist in your life.

Aemond simply looked at you before putting it down and picking up your mouth wash. You watched him read as you continued to brush before finally finishing. “You want to try it? It helps kill the bacteria that makes people's breath smell bad.” You smiled, some foam still in your mouth. 

You uncapped it and rinsed your mouth with it before spitting it out. You turned to him and gave a toothy grin. “See? All clean now. Okay when you do it, don’t swallow it, you might get sick or something and it might burn a bit so…just beware.” 

You gave him some and immediately you saw his face twist. You grinned and held in a laugh. “Relax! Wash it around your mouth, especially in the back.” You watched him try to keep it in before he spit it out. 

He started coughing and you giggled. “A filthy mouth you have.” You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Alright well, get out now, I’m going to change and then I’m going to bed.” you turned around letting down your hair tossing your hair tie on your desk.  

Aemond said nothing and you raised a brow. Maybe he didn’t hear you. You turned around and suddenly he grabbed your face forcing your lips against his. His tongue swiftly entered your mouth before you pushed him off of you as you stood with wide eyes. 

“It is fresher.” It was all he said before once more kissing you. You had no time to react. He pulled away. “You are sleeping for the rest of the day, no?” 

“Well yeah, but I’ve had enough of royals for…like ever. I’m pretty sure your mother is actually trying to kill me and your grandfather.” You asked as your hands lay flat against his chest.

“Grandsire.” He corrected and you rolled your eyes. 

“Right, sorry, you’re still the grammar police.” You spoke and he only hummed, pressing a small kiss to the side of your mouth. You still didn’t know what was happening or why he was acting like this but there was that pressing fear that Alicent will indeed kill you. You already squandered a chance for her to take you to the sept, so now it was on to a new plan to avoid Alicent wrath and that plan that did NOT involve you being intimate with Aemond. 

“Stop.” You pushed him off you. “What are you doing? I’m not joking, your mother, the queen is actually out for my head and the hand will help her. I can’t do this. You are not worth my life. Listen, it was good the first time, but not ‘I will give up my life’ good.”

“Fret not, I will not allow it to happen.” He resumed kissing you and despite your earlier claims you did lean into them. What can you say? A freshly cleaned mouth and the man was a good kisser? It was game over. 

“My knight in shining armor.” You scoffed at pulling away. 

“A dragon knight. I ride the queen of dragons. I will handle my mother and grandsire.”

“That's not how the fairy tales go.” You smiled, raising a brow as he undid the laces of your dress.

“How do the fairy tales go then?” Aemond murmured into your skin as he kissed your neck. 

You giggled and pushed yourself away but his grip kept you close. “Normally the dragon takes the Princess and the knight slays the dragon, saving the Princess and they live happily ever after.”

“What if the knight is the dragon?” He nipped your skin and you sucked in a breath.

“Are you calling yourself a dragon?” A laugh lifting his head towards you while you smile.

“I am a dragon. I carry the dragon’s blood.” He murmured as he kissed you once more, tearing off your dress leaving you in small clothes. 

“So then what does that make me?” You questioned as his hands went to your hair and you began undressing him.

“The princess?” He spoke as he threw off his coat and shirt.

“I’m no Princess, I haven’t married a Prince and my father is no King. I am a scholar.” Aemond pushed you back onto the bed.

“A scholar should not need saving? Do you not need me?” He stood over you with a smug smirk.

“No. I don’t need you.” You propped yourself up on your elbows. “But having you is nice.” You dragged him down kissing him once more.  

A smirk tugged on his lips, fighting with yours for dominance. Clearly, you were not one to submit. Though he supposes it should not come to a surprise, you always fought against everything else. This would be no different. However, Aemond was not but determined. 

“Well, is my Scholar willing to enlighten me in more wisdom–,”  You shivered at the cold metal around his fingers when they contacted your supple skin, hands caressing your sides, “-per the demonstration done last occasion?”

Your eyebrows narrowed, heat spreading on your nape at the unlocked memory, the one you've been registering over again in your head when you tried to sleep at night. A mistake. Well another was about to ensue. A bigger one. 

Ready to spit something back but your lips were swept away, Aemond hungrily biting the flesh.

You pulled back, witnessing the hands that now tangled in the fabric that was your main piece of coverage.

A loud tear echoed, your eyes widening in horror, “Are you mad?! I just got this!”  

Aemond rolled his eyes at the dramatic reaction. “Yes from my nephew, I’ll buy you a better one.” tongue wetting his lips at the sight of your chest. 

It wasn't bare, no, your small clothes were lace. A pretty pink lace and in the middle was a small little rose sown on. Was this what the women from your land wore? Such skimpy tops? All Aemond knew was that it caught him like a fish to a hook, excited to peel it off your body like a fruit shell, the delicious part hidden beneath.

“Wait.” You pushed against him. “This is exactly what Imaan Hammam wore in the comeback show of Victoria Secret. Be very careful, this is like one of three sets I have.” You smiled looking down at your lacy small clothes. “I have the one Adriana Lima wore and the Candice Swanepoel one. Very expensive, so be careful!” 

Who?

He ran his fingers across the material, it was soft. “You make me insane.” The grin that tugged on your face had the Targaryen cup your cheek, dragging the stare into your sight longer. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“...In a bad way, it makes me feel good.” Poetic. It appears you’re not the only Shakespeare here.

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment or?” He shook his head, resuming with what he started, not a patch of skin was left untouched by his curiosity. Wet kisses and marks being planted on your neck.

 “You talk too much.” He murmured against you.

“Isn't that what teachers do?” You laughed as he pulled the rest of your dress down to expose the other half of your set. How pretty, even matching with the little rose. 

Aemond sat back, working his way with the strings of his trousers, loosening them to relieve the tent that formed by your charm, “You aren't teaching me anything?”

“I'll teach you the art of insertion,” you chuckled at your own joke but only one party was laughing.

“I know where to put it.” Aemond wasn’t stupid and you were not his first conquest, though judging by your demeanor, it wasn’t yours either. Though for the moment Aemond would rather not think of that. 

“Right, do you want to learn or not?” You smiled looking up at him.

Aemond sat back on his hunches, observing with that cold eye of his, expression unreadable. “Do proceed.”

“No wait, I was just kidding." Raising an eyebrow, a thought struck you, wouldn't it be amusing? 

“A jest,” a look of disbelief painted his expression. 

“Harder? Faster? Deeper?” You giggled looking towards him. 

He glared at your grimy ‘jest’, one hand wrapping around the bone of your ankle, satisfied by the small squeal that left your mouth as he pulled you halfway down the sheets, locating his hips between your thighs.

That seemed to shut you up, allowing Aemond to have his way with you. It was absurd, the way his body craved you so much. He wanted all of you, to see all of you, have everything to himself.

His jaw clenched, his hand glided over your stomach until it was right above the place you needed him most.

Your blood kept pumping, your heart skipped beats it shouldn't. Why were you reacting this way? His thumb hovered over the bundle of nerves that stood out, pressing with the large digit on it.

“Aemond, don't tease.” the drag of his name came so perfectly out of your pretty lips, lips that he devoured. 

Silently, he noted the buck of your hips when he moved his fingers in slow circles around your clit that were covered by the soft lace of your small clothes covering you

His brain drilled in all the information, your heavy breathing, the line forming between your eyebrows and that pleading swirl in your eyes when you peered at him.

“Did you enjoy that?” You curtly bobbed your head, still not partaking in the fact that this indeed was happening with Aemond Targaryen. “More, please.” The light gesture was maddening your senses, it was there, simulating, but not enough. 

“Wait, take it off. I can’t ruin this.” You breathed out, your cheeks flushed looking at him.

“I’m sure I can get you another.” Aemond was sure in this moment he would travel to the ends of the earth in this moment to get you what you needed. Anything just to your fucked out expression.

“You can’t. Just take it off” You whined and he obliged. Such a pretty thing it was. Though what it hid was prettier yet. In the light he could see you glistening. The prettiest underlings he had ever seen.  

“Aemond, more.” You begged to reach him. 

 And more was given, Aemond pushed your hip down when it buckled at the reaction and it did send a shock through your veins, but was quickly discarded by the overtaking pleasure.

“God.” You breathed out. Your awareness heightened, fingers tugging at the sheets of your bed at the bliss that was raising every second. 

Oh how you loved it, his thumb was replaced by his pointer and middle finger, flicking and toying with the pearl. Your thighs squeezed around Aemonds wrist but he caught one of your knees, pushing his wide open for more access.

They ran down your fold to collect the running slick, using it to fasten the pace. You couldn't control yourself anymore, there was a coil in your stomach and the constant spasms of your muscles that had you pushing your long nails into his bare chest, leaving red marks. Any deeper and his blood would spill. 

Your toes curled but then Aemond removed his fingers, holding them up to watch your honey gleam at the cricketing fire that reflected on it. You watched carefully, it shouldn't have been so attractive but it was.

As you were lost in thought, Aemond took the chance to cautiously find a way for his fingers inside your heat, making sure you won't act impulsively by slamming your legs shut.

It didn't take long for your hole to swallow them then try to fight off the intruding, worse was when he curled them, almost knuckle deep inside of you.

And it didn't take too long for him to have an orgasm forced out of you, all Aemond did was continue to investigate your body, your sultry moans that probably had heads turning in the direction of your chambers. 

Gossip. Murmurs. Scandals.

Aemond didn't care. Let them hear, let them whisper. He wants them to hear how good he makes you feel, best would be if his brother heard, then they'd know who you belonged to. A shame his nephew wasn’t here to listen to you.

Or even Ser Criston Cole.

Leaning down to peck your forehead, his spine curled and you felt all the bones and muscles in his upper back on the touch of your palm, broad shoulders, bones that flexibly shifted when he changed position.

Aemond was not able to restrain himself anymore, he was throbbing painfully, the orgasm he gave you didn't make it better. He wanted to be engulfed by your gummy insides.

“Don't be shy now, I'm wide open.” his eye widened, how shameless were you? Your hand seductively ran the curve from your chest to your navel, looking Aemond straight into the eye, no hesitation lingering behind yours.

You were over the previous view of this encounter. The desperate need to fulfill your sexual frustrations came into play, puppeteering you into doing things you probably would regret later.

His nostrils flared, exhaling lowly through his nose as his arousal lit up, exploding at your remarks, your body, your reactions, you. Just…you.

Why were you so special? It confused him. Everything was different about you and he wanted that difference in his life.

Your ankles crossed behind his back, playing the role of getting him closer this time, wearing a devious smile. “I expect more from the one-eyed Targaryen Prince.” 

Your arms now around his nape, your noses touching as your breath lingered like a breeze on him, people in the twenty-twenties would've gone crazy at the non-existent distance.

“Will you take it?”

“I will.”

“I'll ruin you.” That…did something to you. You felt that cold wetness ooze out of your hole and it made you bite your tongue. “Can you?” You lifted a brow offering the challenge. 

“I was always planning on doing so.” His hands ran up your back toying with the back of the small clothes you had.

“Then stop talking and move.” You helped him unclasp the back of your bra and it was thrown off to the side. He looked down towards you relishing the sight of you bare. His second time seeing you, yet it did not take away the illusion it had the first time.

“So demanding, have I made you desperate? Do you want me to fill you up?” Aemond egged you on, his lips finding their right on yours while he took off his garments.

Glancing down, you saw his hardened cock and it made you naturally beam into the kiss, the corners of your mouth curling up. “So big…”

Your hands were caged by one of Aemonds, pushing them above your head for a few minutes. He didn't need to pump his cock more than how hard it was already, only guiding the tip to the right place.

A sharp gasp escaped your throats, not just you but your partner for the night. His expression was like an open book, desperation, need, even guilt was written over it.

Slowly, inch by inch he was fully armored by the welcoming walls that swallowed him in with no further blockades. Groans fell from him like a melody, giving you the time to adjust to the gap your hole had to stretch into.

Your breathing was out of order, the sudden intrusion was too deep, or you felt it too deep. The stinging pain subsided into flowing ecstasy, the burn, the ache for further implications on you.

Your clit caught with the small, white hairs on the base when you bottomed out, his cock reaching greater lengths.

“Move!”

Clawings marked crescent shapes into his shoulders, throwing your head back when your command was heard. Aemond didn't waste time, he knew the spot you wanted him to strike.

Soon you arched off the bed and into his muscular arms, the male sculpting you to the best position. His teeth gnawed at one of your nipples as his pace started in motion, pulling back to steady himself with your round hips.

Aemonds thrusts were rough but somehow light at the same time, he knew how to keep that steady, slow pace. And for a fact, he knew that it angered you. 

But he wanted to treasure this moment, to enjoy it to its fullest, commit every detail to memory. In that moment, you wondered if you could piss him off, make him angry, make Aemond Targaryen fuck you like he's angry at you.

Oh god.

“Yes, wow,  you're going too fast, I won't come anytime soon.” The monotone sarcasm was played out perfectly, except for the shaggy breathes and moans that tagged along.  

“Patience is a virtue of a scholar.” Your scoff never made it out, instead, you were caught off guard by Aemond slamming you down on his dick after leaving only his red angry tip inside, your insides stretched and squeezed, making a molding for him to shelter in.

Your clit pulsed, making you compress around him in the progress and it had Aemond licking his lip at the shock that electrified him, goosebumps sprawling on his pale skin.

The sloppy noises filled the corners of the dimmed chamber, your mixed moans, out of breath sighs and the skin slapping against each other.

Aemond’s herculean hips were rolling to make you gulp down more, more. More of his thrusts that are becoming hectic, more of his honey coated shaft and more of him.

He was hypnotized. If you didn't use witchcraft on him, then what have you done?

Your heat was melting on him, squelches reaching his ears as he didn't stop working your cunt on his cock, sliding out and back in. He took notice of how fast his end was about to twist and snap.

But he didn't stop, not faltering any second even when his vision was fading to black spots, his ears ringing loudly. As were yours, your expression was priceless, jaw slacked and your eyes lost. 

The coil inside him tightened. The aggressive snap of his hips kept you on the high end, your pupils enlarging. Exhaustion hit like a weave at the beach but the bliss kept you up, like coffee on a sleepy morning.

Everytime you wanted to flutter your eyelashes shut, Aemond would thrust and have them wide open again, having your mouth form an o shape. “O-oh god!" Ae-Aemond!” 

Even his name laced with the hum of your voice was a blessing, a godsend gift. You kept clutching onto him as if you'd lose it all if you let go, your knees were bent, your breathing…

It was hard to take in air, Aemonds body was too heavy for you, crushing you beneath his weight. He didn't care, not while he was rearranging you from the inside out and having you milk him to the last drop.

Your thigh jolted, flinched as your calf raised even higher in the air, strands sticking to your forehead from the sweat, Aemonds silver locks mixing with your own hair.

“Not yet. Hēnkirī” it wasn't a request or a demand, but rather a pleading. Even if you didn’t understand Valyrian, it was all he could say. 

Tears brimmed at your lash line, how were you supposed to contain the fire that pooled in your lower stomach? It was getting larger and swallowing everything in its way.

Your smaller hands were trapped by the large, veiny hands that belonged to Aemond, his fingers locking within yours. “Avy jorrāelan”

You were too lost in the bubble of glory to even process his foreign words, too focused on the ecstasy that's about to burst. 

And it did. Right when it was unexpected. “Pull out, Aemond!”

Your orgasm came crashing down on you, your vision going white and your hearing sense being completely useless for the few seconds that your jaw lacked the strength to keep shut in. 

The Targaryen prince left your glazed hole with pre– now stroking himself to find his own release, all over your stomach when as done.

His finger scraped off some of the fluids, eyes heavy and half-lidded while waiting for you to calm down from the stimulation.

Finally catching your breath you looked down at yourself. “You had the entire bed, yet aimed for me?”

“You look better with it.” Aemond stood up rolling his shoulders while you lay still watching him.

“Well…better on me than in me I suppose.” You hummed, grabbing a rag and wiping yourself. 

“You don’t want to bear a royal child? Have your womb be royal? Any woman would kill for my seed.” Aemond watched you wiping yourself before taking the rag away and tossing it away. 

“No epidural, no children.” You murmured. “My bath is probably cold by now.” You looked over to the once steaming bath now releasing less steam. “You smell like Vhagar, you want to bathe with me?” You smiled sitting up trying to find the power to stand. 

Aemond said nothing before wrapping his arms around you nipping at your skin. “You’re going to leave marks, stop.” You tried to push him away but couldn’t, instead his grip around you tightened.

As he continued to suck at your skin you simply looked out the window as you began contemplating your next steps. So much for keeping your distance from the one-eyed prince. You needed to go collect your dues from the Miswak business and check on your reduced children, but even so, you needed time to prepare your proposal that was due in a month. So much to do and so little time. 

Note: Just a little extra added at the end (Special thanks) Also should anyone want to be a beta reader for me, pls!

Previous I Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[cloudedmoonofficial]

Grey was ready.

He stood by while Rainfall finished her other announcements… he saw right through her and he couldn't wait to get big and become a Ranger. She would never choose him as an Envoy, he knew that. No, Grey would have to take a different path to remove the cruel Captain, be it Herbalism or just all out rebellion! But he had to learn first, he needed to complete field training. His conviction set fire to his heart, but he kept it well hidden from anyone who looked too close. He wasn't sure who he could trust yet.

It was a miracle any of them had finished base training! His friend, Tiger, had paid the ultimate price at less than three months of age, swept away by the river, at Rainfall's order. It wasn't fair! Grey could see the sorrow on Lily's face as she sat next to him, waiting to be assigned to a teacher, same as Grey. Tiger was Lily's sibling and all the young cats in the colony still missed him… They missed a lot of cats, so many had disappeared lately…

Many cats in River Colony whispered behind Grey's back that he was the son of a renegade, but he knew better. It was so long ago, but his mother would never have left him on purpose, that had to be Rainfall's doing, and Iceclaw… he held back a snarl, realizing that Rainfall had already assigned Lily and Ivy was next.

“--teach her loyalty and obedience!” Rainfall sneered before her gaze landed on Ivy, “Silverblaze, you will train Ivy. Make sure to train her to follow orders well, those long legs will make her a good scout.” 

“Yes, Captain!” Silverblaze nodded before turning around to greet Piketail, Ivy's aunt, as she ruffled Ivy's fur and congratulated her on reaching the next step of training. Piketail was one that Grey might be able to talk to… maybe…

“Grey.” Rainfall's ice cold gaze fell on him finally, “I can only think of one cat to match your weak will.” she seemed to goad him, but he didn't falter, not even as he heard some snickers behind him. ‘Don't let ‘em get to ya’ Rockyshore had told him, ‘Let it all roll off you like water.’ “Wolfthorn, how would you like to actually pull your weight in this Colony, hm? I'm sick of you freeloading, so you will train Grey. That is all. Dismissed!” she finished, her eyes still trained on Wolfthorn.

“Sure, Rainfall,” Wolfthorn's smooth voice answered, “I'm sure that decision won't come back to bite you.” He shrugged with a smirk. Several cats gasped, no one dared talk back to their Captain, but Grey had witnessed Wolfthorn do it on more than one occasion since he had entered the colony. Apparently he was born here too, but he left on a long journey before returning. Rainfall had just… let him come back. 

“It had better not.” Iceclaw growled a threat. It made Grey's neck fur stand on end, but Wolfthorn didn't seem put off by Iceclaw at all. Why? Grey knew there was more to that story, there had to be, and he was going to uncover it! He could barely hide how excited he was to be assigned to Wolfthorn, of all cats! The Spirits might have been on his side after all!

Grey looked back at the silver striped tomcat with an eager smile, ignoring the flashes of pity in many cats’ eyes. They certainly didn't think his assignment was a good thing, and he would pretend to be unaware of why; he would continue his act of naivety until he had Wolfthorn alone. He had to be careful about it if he was to succeed. 

There would be no harder working new-claw than Grey, Wolfthorn wouldn't even need to try very hard to train him. He would practice his stances, his tactics and his strikes until they were flawless. And one day he would be good enough to beat Iceclaw. Hopefully he could get Lily on his side too, and Talon, Ivy and Falcon! 

Wolfthorn blinked at him and then turned away, walking toward the west shore of their island base. Grey hurried after him, following across the stepping stones and through the mangrove tendrils. They didn't stop until they had reached the Rainbow Trees, the huge eucalyptus trunks towered above them, reaching for the sky. Grey bounced into a trot as he realized they were the only cats here. What should he ask first?

Wolfthorn stopped abruptly, turned and sat down, his striped tail flicking from side to side and his eyes narrowing, “What’s your story?” Wolfthorn asked before Grey could speak, “You're not as naive as you let them believe.”

“...No.” Grey's heart jumped into his throat, should he really trust Wolfthorn? His idealistic plan started to sound stupid suddenly, he didn't know what to say, “I--well, I just…” he cleared his throat and trailed off, shuffling his paws nervously. 

“Relax.” Wolfthorn smirked and rolled his eyes, “I'm not going to bite you. Obviously, you are aware that Rainfall isn't my biggest fan, so I'm sorry she made me your teacher, I don't know why, and I'm not exactly a good one.” 

“That’s okay!” Grey blurted out, “I can already do a lot! I've been practicing!” he launched into his best leap and roll technique before bouncing over Wolfthorn’s back, swatting him gently and then leaping back in front of him, a huge smile on Grey's face as he finished.

Wolfthorn chuckled, “Look, kid, you don't have to impress me. Mine is an opinion no one cares about.”

“I do! I think you might be what I need to save the colony!” Grey almost looked like a kitten again, huge yellow moon-eyes gleaming.

“You're really into this, aren't you?” Wolfthorn raised an eyebrow. He seemed caught off guard, but also a bit amused. “Save them from what? ‘River Colony is the best colony in the Alliance’ after all.” he echoed Rainfall, fishing for an answer that suited him. 

The last thing Wolfthorn expected was to hear Grey out himself for treason, but that is what happened: Grey's face turned serious as he prepared to speak. This was it, if he couldn't trust Wolfthorn, all hope was lost anyway, “Save them from Rainfall! She got Tiger killed. My mother is missing… several cats are. Piketail tells us about them, she says not to talk about it though… you never know who's watching…” 

“So, you're a little traitor huh?” Wolfthorn laughed in Grey's face, after a moment, Wolfthorn tilted his head to the side, “I suppose I underestimated you. Kittens don't normally have such resolute opinions.”

“I'm not a kitten anymore, I'm six months.” Grey stood tall and Wolfthorn realized how large he was, almost as large as any adult really, “And yeah, I am a traitor! Are you going to report me?” Grey's demeanor was more challenging than anything, “Someone has to do something or more cats are going to get hurt.”

It almost gave Wolfthorn hope… hope for the colony he knew as a kitten: safety and pride in their work. He sighed, “I suppose kittens are forced to grow fast in River Colony now… No, I'm not going to report you, but keep all that to yourself.” Both toms relaxed a bit, “I suppose you've noticed that my relationship with our Captain is a bit different, hm? Well, don't test it for yourself, alright? Your job is to become a Ranger right now, you'll be playing the long game.”

“So, you do have a plan? I knew it!” Grey's ears stood on end as he prepared to listen

“Not really…” Wolfthorn answered and Grey's excitement melted, “I don't really do… hard things anymore.” He yawned.

Grey's brow furrowed, “But, all we need is a few more cats on our side! You could lead–”

“I'm no leader.” Wolfthorn interrupted his new ward, who drooped a bit in disappointment. It hurt Wolfthorn's heart to see Grey's conviction shatter… Who was he to tell this new-claw that his idea of justice wasn't tenable? Not wanting to completely break this young cat's confidence, Wolfthorn caught Grey's gaze and said, “But I know who could be.” He supposed he was about to do a ‘hard thing’ after all.

The new-claw smiled with determination, but kept his mouth shut, waiting to be let down again perhaps? Or maybe just waiting for instruction.

“You are just a naive little kitten, yeah?” Wolfthorn raised an eyebrow. Grey smiled eagerly and nodded enthusiastically, “You would never dream of betraying Rainfall and I'm quite annoyed that she has you following me around.” Wolfthorn smirked as he got their story straight, “You're too dumb to see me do anything treasonous though.” Grey nodded again, laughing at the continued charade.

“I'm ready.” Grey said.

“I guess I am too.” Wolfthorn shrugged. He wasn't sure why he came back to River Colony, but he never expected to meet a cat like Grey. He supposed his shadow must have guided him home for this. Was he really the only cat for the job? He hoped not. Time to find out.

-Art by Snap

[insanityclause]

Over the past 13 years, Tom Hiddleston has died more times than he can recall. “Let me think about this,” the actor tells us, pausing to count in his head. “I think, officially, there were two big ones.” 

He’s referring to his many exits from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the blockbuster franchise in which he’s played shape-shifting Norse god Loki Laufeyson since Kenneth Branagh’s 2011 film “Thor”—the son of Asgardians Odin (Anthony Hopkins) and Frigga (Rene Russo), and the half-sibling of Thor (Chris Hemsworth), the god of thunder. 

The character has since bounced between villain and reluctant antihero across five films, a handful of post-credits scenes, and Michael Waldron’s Disney+ spinoff series “Loki,” which Hiddleston also executive produces. The show wrapped its second—and supposedly final—season last November. The finale presents an end for the character, but not one of the aforementioned “big ones.” 

Hiddleston’s first “official” farewell came in Alan Taylor’s 2013 sequel “Thor: The Dark World,” which saw the god of mischief take a sword to the chest to save his beefy brother. “As written in the first script, it was a true sacrifice,” Hiddleston says. Unfortunately for Marvel’s long-term plans, the actor had done too good a job playing the trickster.

“When Marvel [executives] were testing the movie, they’d given [viewers] questionnaires that said, ‘Is there anything you didn’t understand?’ ” he remembers. “Literally every single audience member said, ‘Well, obviously, Loki’s not really dead.’ ” 

In classic comic-book fashion, the character did return, gallivanting alongside his brother in Taika Waititi’s 2017 follow-up “Thor: Ragnarok.” He died again one year later (“big one” number two) in the Russo brothers’  “Avengers: Infinity War.” There were no smokescreens or questionnaires this time; audiences watched as Loki’s neck was crushed by the purple fist of intergalactic warlord Thanos (Josh Brolin). 

Hiddleston remembers arriving in Atlanta to shoot his final scene and immediately bumping into Brolin. “He came up to me, gave me this huge hug, and said, ‘I’m so sorry, man.’ ” 

He meant it, too; everyone meant it. The sun, it seemed, had actually set on Hiddleston’s MCU journey. “At the end of that scene, I got a big round of applause, and everybody was so sweet and kind and gracious,” he says. “I got notes and emails saying, ‘Tom, you’ve done so much for us—what a journey. Come and see us anytime.’ I really thought that was the end.” 

And it was, for real, right up until it wasn’t—when the time-traveling shenanigans of 2019’s “Avengers: Endgame” blasted a younger version of Loki out of the established canon and into his own series. Over two seasons, the multiversal storyline envisions the title character as a figure who exists outside time and space. Across all there is, was, and may come to pass, there will always be a Loki, in some form, wreaking havoc. 

Hiddleston has long since accepted what this means for him as an actor. Maybe “Loki” Season 2 really was his last time in the role; or maybe he’ll play him until the sun burns out. “I’ve realized that, in human consciousness, that’s who Loki is,” he says. “Loki is this ancient, mythic character, who, in our collective mythology, represents the trickster, the transgressor, the boundary-crosser, the shape-shifter—somebody who’s mercurial and spontaneous and unpredictable who will always confound your expectations and wriggle out from underneath your certainties and convictions. Someone who we need and [who] is necessary.”

Hiddleston pauses, getting emotional. “Maybe Loki escaping death a couple of times is sort of an emblem of who he is in our culture,” he says, grinning at his own gusto. The actor has a habit of being self-deprecating about the depth of the character’s lore. “I spend a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.”

You can tell, and it’s incredibly endearing. Talking to Hiddleston about Loki feels like discussing Shakespeare’s Richard III with Laurence Olivier or Tennessee Williams’ Blanche DuBois with Jessica Lange. They were actors who put their definitive stamps on those roles by returning to the well and constantly digging deeper. 

In conversation, Hiddleston is equally as likely to reference comic-book arcs as he is the ancient, anonymous Old Norse scribes of the “Poetic Edda” or Richard Wagner’s epic four-cycle opera “Der Ring des Nibelungen.” He speaks reverently of actors who embodied the trickster god before him, like Jim Carrey in Chuck Russell’s 1994 comedy “The Mask” and Alan Cumming in Lawrence Guterman’s 2005 sequel, “Son of the Mask.” He also heaps praise on those who played the part after him, such as his “Loki” costars Sophia Di Martino, Richard E. Grant, Deobia Oparei, and—in one very surreal Season 1 moment—“some alligator they found somewhere.” He cites legendary Marvel creators Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Walter Simonson alongside the likes of English essayist Walter Pater and Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw, who once wrote of life as a “splendid torch” to keep burning for those who follow.

“Loki is ‘a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment,’ ” Hiddleston quotes, “and I want to make it burn as brightly as I can before passing it on to future generations.” 

This level of study started before he even landed the role. He recalls the 24 hours leading up to his “Thor” audition, when he was 28 years old. After graduating from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 2005, he quickly earned small-screen and stage acclaim—but he hadn’t yet achieved a major breakthrough. When he received the script for “Thor,” it felt familiar. “I remember thinking, This is almost Shakespearean, this language,” Hiddleston says. “What’s the best example I can [look to] of an actor who managed to humanize and make real this elevated world of myth?” 

He found the answer in Christopher Reeve, who played the title role in Richard Donner’s 1978 blockbuster “Superman.” “He’s masterful in that film,” Hiddleston says. “In a way, it’s a similar premise: He’s a god or he’s a being from a different realm, and it’s not naturalistic in the way that we might expect. He does it so truthfully, and it’s so clear and clean and open and honest. I thought, If I can even approximate or get close to the kind of clarity that Christopher Reeve had in those films, I’ll be lucky.” 

And then, the morning of his “Thor” audition, Hiddleston went for a run, “which is my habit before doing anything unusual,” he explains. 

Running has remained a constant throughout the actor’s MCU tenure. At any given moment over the last decade, the god of mischief was likely doing laps around Marvel’s go-to shooting location, Pinewood Studios (now Trilith Studios) in Atlanta. “Life is movement; I really believe that,” Hiddleston says. 

“I find when I’m running or walking, the repetitive nature of it relaxes the mind and allows ideas and inspiration to come from a deeper place. I see my work as an actor—especially in preparation for a project or a scene—as almost preparing myself to be open and ready to receive ideas, to receive energy from other actors, to receive energy from my imagination.”

Hiddleston found the technique particularly helpful when he was filming a scene for the “Loki” series premiere that he calls “one of the most thrilling challenges I’ve ever had as an actor.” In it, Loki has been poached from the flow of time itself by the temporality-policing Time Variance Authority and forced to watch what is, essentially, a highlight reel of his entire MCU arc. It’s one of the most deeply existential moments you’ll ever find streaming alongside the likes of “Bluey” and the “Cars” movies. Here is a man watching the sum total of his life—his hopes, his dreams, his failures, his own death—play out in a 30-second clip that ends with the cold, clinical words: “End of file.”

“I just kept imagining: If you were afforded the opportunity or forced to watch your own death as a bystander, it would bring about an existential shock and crisis unlike any other,” Hiddleston explains. “It was a scene where I thought, I don’t have a reference for how to play this. I just have to allow shock, disgust, disgrace, shame, disbelief, acceptance, incredulity, and sorrow to exist in the center of me.” 

As an executive producer on the series, Hiddleston had a say as to which of Loki’s many misdeeds would play in the sequence. He chose clips like Frigga’s death in “Thor: The Dark World” and his father’s final words in “Thor: Ragnarok”—moments Hiddleston knew would most fill the character with regret. As production was preparing to shoot the scene, he asked first assistant director Richard Graves for a 20-minute warning.

 “I decided to jog around the stage and internalize as many of those memories of those people, those characters, those actors [as possible]—to try and find the center of my own vulnerability,” Hiddleston says. “Part of the joy of it was just going back to basics, trying to simplify this very complex thing…. Go for a jog, get into your body, allow yourself to be open, and just be there; just feel it.”

One “Loki”-like time jump later, Hiddleston found himself in a similar situation as he was preparing to shoot his final moment of Season 2—a scene that effectively caps Loki’s 13-year arc. Across 12 episodes, the show guided its title character toward a truly heroic end: With all of existence on the verge of collapse, he steps out of time to tie the strands of every reality together. As the credits roll, Loki sits at the center of time, holding in place all that is—alone. 

It’s a lot for any actor to internalize, especially one who’s performing solo in front of a blue screen. With 45 minutes to cameras rolling, episode co-director Aaron Moorhead made a suggestion. “He said to me, ‘Why don’t you go back, if you can bear it, and watch some of your work [over] the last 15 years?’ ” Hiddleston remembers. “ ‘Take it in, see what it means to you, and then carry it when you step out onto the stage.’ ” 

The actor took Moorhead’s advice to heart. And suddenly, without meaning to, he was mirroring the moment that started the series: absorbing the sum total of Loki’s MCU run. But this time, his regret had been replaced with gratitude. Hiddleston watched clips from “Thor,” remembering a time when he and Hemsworth had yet to ascend to the A-list. He recalled working with powerhouses like Hopkins and Russo, and the bonds he forged with the “original six Avengers” in 2011. He thought about how fun it was to film “Thor: Ragnarok” with Tessa Thompson and Jeff Goldblum, and of the more recent friendships he found with his “Loki” castmates Di Martino and Owen Wilson. 

“I thought, What Loki is doing, he is doing for his friends. And so, Tom, why don’t you do it for your friends?” Hiddleston says. “That’s where the two of us met in that moment. And then I was so grateful I had this most amazing crew, and we did it together.”

The actor is, of course, noncommittal as to whether this is actually the end of his MCU run. The franchise is scheduled out until at least 2027, and Hemsworth has mentioned his desire to make another “Thor” film. And if Loki’s past has proven anything, even the most official endings can be undone. 

Either way, it seems to Hiddleston that something significant has ended, even if it’s just Loki’s full-circle arc. “I hope it feels redemptive because his broken soul is partially healed; and you see that this character, who is capable of love, has made a decision from and for love,” he says. The actor cites the “beautiful prologue” of the first “Thor” film, in which Hopkins’ Odin tells his two sons: “Only one of you can ascend to the throne, but both of you were born to be kings.”

“At the end of Season 2, Loki is sitting on a kind of throne; but it’s not arrived in the shape he expected, and there’s no glory in it,” Hiddleston explains. “There’s a kind of burden, and he’s alone. He’s doing it for his friends, but he has to stay there without them. There’s a poetic melancholy there which I found very moving.”

For now, Hiddleston “can’t even conceive” of his life without Loki. He only hopes that he’s lived up to his guiding ethos as an actor, which he sums up with a plea from E.M. Forster’s 1910 novel “Howards End”: “Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.”

“The feedback loop for actors is that we get to inhabit a fiction,” Hiddleston says. “But hopefully, that fiction bears the shape of a truth that we recognize about life—that what we do reflects the ups and downs, the peaks and troughs, and the breadth and profundity of all of our lives.”

Hiddleston exists in that space between fiction and reality, the work and the resulting art, the prose and the passion. Long after we’ve moved on from our interview and started casually discussing the cherry blossoms blooming in New York, his eyes light up. He’s made another connection, remembered one more thing—just one last thing he’d like to impart about Loki. 

He spends a lot of time thinking about Loki. You can probably tell.

“I’m so aware that the reason I’ve been able to play him for so long is because of the audience’s curiosity and passion,” Hiddleston says. “I’ve been delighted to find that for a character of such stature, he’s remarkably human. Many of the characteristics that people connect to in Loki are deeply human feelings. That’s been the pleasure, is infusing this elevated character with humanity.”

Even then, honestly, it feels as if Hiddleston, like Loki, could go on forever. Unfortunately, outside of the MCU, time moves in only one direction. Once again, he has to run.

This story originally appeared in the June 6 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe to In the Envelope: The Actor's Podcast to hear our full conversation with Hiddleston (out 6/6). 

[anya-chalotra]

“And yet, they hesitated. The knowledge that they might never see each other again, that some of them—maybe all of them—might not survive this night hung heavy in the air. A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.

What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking? […] She had no family, no parents or siblings, only people to fight beside. Maybe that was something to be grateful for, too.”

SIX OF CROWS: CHAPTER XXVIII BY LEIGH BARDUGO

[sidewalk-cracks]

okay everybody, listen up, because I need to talk about Edward Elric. I've started watching fmab and I am losing my mind over this boy. There's so many incredible things about this kid; he's such an incredible protagonist.

the realism of Ed is so painfully wonderful- this is a fifteen year old child. Remember what you were like when you were fifteen? Yeah? Fifteen is so young. This is a child who's had to grow up WAY too fast and has been through so many unspeakable things, but he's still a kid and he actually ACTS like it. He gets irritable over small things and acts "childish" when he's excited and has that touch of arrogance a teen gets when they know they're important.

Ed gets scared. He's not like a lot of your "unshakable" shounen protagonists, who, when faced with something shocking in a fight, eyes only widen and mouth only frowns and they only worry a little and maybe ask for an explanation. No, Ed is a kid and he gets scared. Sometimes he handles fights well, but sometimes he freezes. When Scar found him and Al, when he hurt Al and tore out Ed's arm and pursued relentlessly in the rain, standing over Ed as Ed writhed on the ground, Ed screamed for his brother and froze in his fear and thought he was about to die then.

He's so fifteen in everything- in his anger and his arrogance, in his fear, in his trauma, in his reverence of life. Ed is at the age when your eyes truly start to open to reality and society, though given his past he probably started earlier. But he holds life so preciously, so closely, cradles it in his arms and declares over and over again that it is one thing he will not trample, will not hurt. That fifteen-year-old conviction and the leftover naivety from childhood, paired with the newer discovery of just how sacred, how beautiful and important life is.

He's fifteen in his love. You ever been around teenagers, especially today's teenagers, and you know they do everything fiercely, most things boldly, and Ed screams it in his love. In his protection of Al, his absolute dedication and protection to the one person he has left, can hold close. He's a teenager in their banter but such an eldest sibling in every way- in his drive to protect Al from anything, everything he can, in his leadership, in his fear of losing his sibling.

Ed is such a real person, such a real kid. He's incredibly mortal, unlike a lot of op shounen protagonists. He hits his head and it bleeds. He gets impaled and struggles to stand at all. Every time he's injured we see him recovering in the hospital after. He has nightmares from his fear of failure, about Al and his mother and Nina. He's smart but not indestructible. He's incredibly earnest about his convictions, earnest about the beauty of life, just like a teen.

Edward Elric is probably the most realistic anime teen I've ever seen, and I love him SO much

[pumpkinmetaphor]

im pretty sure its a running joke in the kyokao fandom that they actively make each other worse which i think is absolutely hilarious (because like, yeah annoying capitalist x annoying capitalist) but what are some of the ways you think they improve each other? :D /gen

Great question!

I think Kyoya makes Kaoru more ambitious. Kaoru is smart enough to skirt by most of the time without much effort or forethought. I would not hesistate to believe that he and Hikaru are only doing like half their subjects and then taking tests for each other. I also think Kaoru is immature and nebulous about the future and what he wants from it.

Someone like Kyoya, who is very goal oriented and future focused would be somewhat of a motivating factor. Hikaru and Kaoru's decision to go to Tokyo University is more triggered by Haruhi and Nanako than Kyoya's still pending decision to stay in Boston, but I think Kyoya seeing what he wants and going for it is impressive. I think Kaoru would take his work more seriously, maybe take more of an interest in the business side of things if Kyoya made it more fun.

Meanwhile, I think Kaoru would motivate Kyoya to reevaluate what he thinks freedom means. Freedom is Kaoru's family motto and something Kyoya strives for and thinks he has- but has he? I think in the same way Tamaki makes him reevaluate the box his father has put him in, Kaoru would help recontextualise that a bit more. Yes, you don't have to be trapped in the expectations of your birthright, but maybe you don't need to be beholden to anyone's expectations of you- Kyoya himself said it doesn't matter as long as the people he cares about knows who he is, so maybe he should live by that instead.

The host club in general convinces Kyoya to have a bit more fun, but I think even Kaoru's specific situation- overshadowed by his elder brother, possibly disinherited due to reasons unrelated to merit- and the fact that Kaoru would be entirely unbothered by it would allow Kyoya to maybe reevaluate his options and pick ones that allow him that freedom. After all, those who live freely are the winners, right? And Kyoya wants to win.

I think this "Kaoru makes Kyoya a freer spirit" stops slightly short of Kaoru getting him on a motorbike at any point.

Basically, I think they mellow each other out. Kaoru works harder, Kyoya becomes less of a workaholic. Kaoru becomes a little more self-possessed, Kyoya becomes a little bit freer.

I also think, as me and @pilindiel were only discussing earlier, they mesh pretty well with each other's anxieties. They're two people who believe that they can only be love for the mask they put on, and two people who quite easily see through each other's masks. As long as the people you care about know who you are, nothing else matters- is as much about Kaoru as it is about Kyoya. It's an inadvertant, egotistical admission by Kyoya that he does know who Kaoru is and Kaoru does care about him, and vice a versa. Platonically, and bewildering to Kaoru at this point, but important nonetheless. Kyoya proves his point by even saying it and articulating it as a viewpoint that Kaoru would share- because he does know who Kaoru is, and nothing else about it matters.

But yeah, Kyoya believes that it is more important for the people he cares about to know him than it is for them to love him. And Kaoru is kind of into the whole evil scheming ambition thing so that negates that concern. And Kaoru meanwhile is terrified of being made obsolete and being left behind. Which is negated somewhat by Kyoya being the kind of guy with the dedication to stick to his convictions, one of which he has decided is the perpetuity of the host club. And one would be Kaoru too, of course.

Also just tacking on at the end because I'm rambling too much. I think Kyoya would make Kaoru more independent-- something Kaoru already strives for a bit more of, but there's nothing like giving someone a reason not to share a bedroom with their sibling anymore as that final push. And I think Kaoru would encourage Kyoya to be less self-isolating, less of a lone wolf. Mainly because he likes getting into other people's business. Kaoru loves teamwork <- freak.

[traegorn]

Why do you think so many people in your notes are so ignorant of how American government works?

I graduated just in time to escape No Child Left Behind. Has basic social studies really gotten that bad over the last couple of decades?

To be fair I was going to say that if your school is that bad there's the internet, but then I remembered that the internet sucks now and it's full of mis and dis information.

How do we get people to learn about how the government actually works, and especially how do we get it past their conviction that they already know how it works?

It's just it's amazing how many people think the president is already the dictator that Trump wants the position to be.

So I honestly think a lot of people either just never paid attention in school or they were never taught it in the first place. Like if they didn't grow up politically active, it's easy for the world to make a lot of this stuff opaque.

I was on my first picket line at six years old, so I kinda take stuff for granted sometimes I guess. My parents have always been politically engaged and brought it home with them.

My sister, my brother, and I all got degrees in Political Science. Both my siblings got law degrees, and my sister works for the FAA and my brother works for AFSCME.

I, uh, got a boring corporate cubicle job, ran an anime con for two decades, and wrote a bunch of dumb comics and books.

Anyways.

What's really happened is that there is a lot of propaganda out there trying to disenfranchise the left. And folks fall for it -- if you don't know that the federal executive branch can't override state law, it's easy to blame the guy that you're told is "in charge." It's the same way right wing talking points blame Biden for high gas prices when they go up around the globe.

If you want to know why I keep responding to folks, it's that I'm hoping that I'm talking to real people and that I can let them know what they've been mislead about. Maybe some are psyops or propaganda accounts -- but I'm betting they aren't. I'm betting they're angry people who need someone to lash out at.

And it's simple to blame one guy, especially when the press ignores most of the good things he's done due to the very successful right wing propaganda machine.

I hope I can just let people in on how the world isn't that simple, and that we have to care more about helping as many folks as we can over hurting the people we're mad at.

[teehee-vibes]

Guys, I think Grizzly hid lore in Dark Puckered Hole.

NOW JUST- JUST HEAR ME OUT. (Mieru, look away).

I’m not just talking about the potential purity culture of the Undersea being exposed through Finn’s self exploration… I’m talking RAFT lore.

In Chapter 69, “Behind Bars,” of Dark Puckered Hole, Finn Tidestrider is imprisoned “somewhere in the eastern sea” with another triton, who is on the brink of death. They fall in love and bang before the anonymous convict passes in Finn’s arms, but that’s not what I’m focusing on. Im focusing on the presence of another triton, an injured one, in the Oversea, especially the Sakura Ocean.

Historically in Mana, Finn Tidestrider was one of, if not, THE FIRST to leave the Undersea behind. A decade or so-so later, in modern day Riptide, there have been practically no other triton. Gillion, who was banished, and Edyn, who left to find and avenge him, are the only ones. Even more so, the only other Undersea characters are found in the Undersea (Unnamed NPCs in The Tank OR Felipe, a grung, being from Liquidus) or having left it behind for personal reasons a la Edyn (Caspian, a water genasi). When the Tidestrider siblings go around Allport, they have to wear cloaks to avoid standing out. There aren’t even other triton in Liquidus!

So how, why, is there another triton in the oversea? Finn himself is shocked by his presence. “In this prison, to find another man from the Undersea… my mind raced with questions.” He doesn’t dwell on this weirdness because his questions are drowned out by the sound of his blood beneath his skin, rushing downward, BUT it’s very bizarre, no?

Another detail: Why was the other triton on the verge of death? Of course, inadequate care, but could he have been thrown back into the cell like that? Whoever imprisoned them did not care about their lives. They could live, or they could die.

To go further, isn’t it kind of weird how Finn Tidestrider doesn’t specify where his imprisonment is? He is a very detailed author. He could have said one of the villages in Onawa Country or anything else to feed more detail into his writing, but he didn’t. I feel like the reason he wouldn’t be specific is because he himself was unsure exactly of where he was. He was taken in secret, likely kept out of sight while being arrested and transported to his cell.

I also have to wonder… who imprisoned them? I think you know what I’m getting at. I think RAFT did. RAFT has the resources. RAFT has the political sway. RAFT has governmental power. And it’s worsened by the fact that this imprisonment occurred in the Eastern Sea, the site of the Promised Bastion, where triton are imprisoned, tortured, skinned, and experimented on…

Judging by the fact that Finn refers to the other triton’s you-know-what as “a lighthouse to guide this lost sailor home,” Finn was likely a part of the Black Rose Pirates at the time. He couldn’t hide his presence in the Oversea as a crewmate for a pirate lord, let alone Captain Rose. Finn was on wanted posters, Finn was in newspaper headlines, Finn was a published author. I think RAFT had its eyes on him, but when they arrested or kidnapped him, it wasn’t for crimes of piracy… at least not on the surface.

I think this experimentation on Undersea people and gods has been going on for a long time, and Dark Puckered Hole could be evidence of this fact. Finn was intended to be a source of skin, of blood, and of magic for RAFT’s experimentation in the artificial leviathan and black ops projects. His lover was too, maybe already was (I say maybe because Finn doesn’t allude to the idea that he was physically ripped apart… that would have been unignorable). Finn probably only made it out because he’s that strong (in episode 82, when Drey is talking to and comforting Jay, he said Finn was terrifying when angry or passionate) or his crew came to his rescue.

I think political and military purposes against the pirates weren’t the only reasons RAFT wanted to ally with the Undersea. “Joining forces” with them led either to less suspicion as they funneled triton out of the ocean and to the recently abandoned Promised Bastion, or coming to dominate them allowed RAFT to simply take triton without enough pushback. Either way, without their Champion to rise against them (the one triton on the hooks accused Gillion of abandoning them), they’ve been taken en masse. And maybe Edyn’s collaboration with the navy permitted her some of this knowledge, and that’s how she knew to hide Gillion from prying eyes in navy territory.

Uhhh tldr: It’s weird that there’s an injured triton in the Eastern Oversea. I think DPH could imply that Finn and his lover were imprisoned by RAFT as test subjects for the artificial leviathan and black ops projects, proving the longevity of Fay Ferin’s plans.

[keelt9]

Chapter 15

Masterlist

I stopped going to the Grand Prix after, me and my reckless innocence believed all the people around coming to you with good intentions. 

In my last GP, one man approached to me claiming working for a newspaper and wanted to write a special article about Lewis, I said more than I should, reveal things that I didn’t know it should be keep it like holy secrets; as result Lewis has a big scold from his team, besides he never reproach me anything, I knew it for the way his voice drops and his eyes light off. 

That was enough for me to stop and wanted to keep my family in the shadows; as I keep growing up, every time people find out Lewis Hamilton is my brother, different types of comments surround me, good and bad. 

With Caleb everything seemed different. 

I met him in the first semester of college, he wasn’t the most popular guy but he has something that makes it impossible to pass unnoticed, he didn’t seem to mind my family or the comments around me. By that time Hanna was already stuck with me and claimed herself a close friend of mine. 

Time passed and we got closer, by the third semester we were already a couple, two years later we started to make a plan for when we graduated from college. 

He’s a year older and we agreed he’ll wait until I graduate. Meanwhile he started work, for we’re moving together to a department we would buy between us.

My family made a racket with the fact I have such a strong mind around a plan I made totally in love in college; my sisters claim this will pass when I begin to settle down and my brothers we’re just worried I actually be so stuck to this plan.

My parents fear materialized when, just 5 months later I announced to them I’m moving with Caleb, they relentlessly with me saying that if that’s what I want it’s totally fine, still I must consider the plans you made could change in any moment. 

But in that moment I couldn't care less, when Lewis tried to interfere I shut him down telling him from all my siblings he was the one who knows me the least; along the way Caleb was so stubborn about following our plans made the relationship between them be always so rigid.

One night as we were watching T.V Caleb and I concrete the plan will ruin me.

“We should get married.” He said as I was laying in his chest. “Come on! We’re living together, we get along so well, what can be missing? We've been together for 5 years.” 

I turn around observing him. “Y/N I think it’s the next phase of our lives.”

With a lame proposal at random the restaurant I accepted with the strong conviction Caleb was the love of my life.

My family freak out, Thomas was as angry as Mika about such a reckless decision just based on a plan but all the family and friends of Caleb were so happy that I put them aside.

In three months I arranged with Hanna all the preparations for my dream wedding, but just a month before I started to notice the change in Caleb.

The things we used to talk about at the wedding slowly started to make him stressed and uncomfortable; even I mentioned about postponement but he said it was the nerves and the thrilling emotions. 

Mika tried to warn me along with Thomas about maybe that was the sign I needed to stop this and thinking for more than one second about taking this step, but clearly I put all those comments away. 

A couple of weeks before the wedding Caleb changed one more time, he looked more cheerful and excited for the big step we’re about to take, even he mentioned he couldn't wait for that day to come. 

As the day approached we traveled two days earlier for making sure all the arrangement would be on time; family and friends all started to gather wishing us the best for the next stage in our lives; however Lewis was cleared, if this makes me happy he will be there but he’ll never lie to me, he didn’t approved this.

We followed the rules, one day before the wedding we took our time to be with our friends and family, after all is like all said, the groom mustn't see the bride before the wedding.

But my nightmare begins that night.

I went to sleep earlier. I wanted to be relaxed for all the arrangements; the make up, the dress, the special moments with my family, I wanted to live them to the fullest for I can keep forever in my mind.

A soft knock on my door woke me up around 2 am. I was hoping Lewis finally agreed to come earlier, not just the ceremony at mid afternoon. I found Caleb at the door with his hands in his pockets, he entered my room with a regretful expression and the first thing he said to me was. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

Max grabs my hands, keeping his distance as we watch the moon rising in the middle of the ocean and the sky.

He started to ramble about the fact we were too young for this compromise, we hadn't thought properly and maybe we were rushing a decision; my heart and soul sank in every word I heard from him but I was so out of me, that I could barely reply.

When he finished talking I begged him to please we can discuss this in the morning not now when all our emotions are so high, he cut me down saying he just listened coherent thoughts after a long time and he’s taking decisions for our good. 

Repeating the same words every time I covered my face or hugged me so tight. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t ask me how he did it but all I can remember is I stood in front of all our families and friends in the small breakfast we had prepared for them before the wedding, saying our wedding is canceled but we’re grateful all can come.” I remember the confused and angry expression in our guests.

My parents notice the puffy eyes on me, drained out of light, I just barely was there for more than 2 minutes but I felt I lost all my energies, I got lock on my room with my parents and siblings as them tried to calm me but I didn't have a clue what's going on, by the time Lewis arrived he found the pieces of a sister he left a month ago, he wanted to punch him you can see it for the way he keeps tighten his fist tight but he didnt move from my side, he keeps saying he couldn't protect me as he should.

“Do you remember I told you my dad used to sing Bob Marley songs?” I giggle cleaning a tear off my face. “The only moment I stopped crying was when he hugged me mumbling <Three little birds>.” 

I turn around seeing Max's eyes full of sadness.

Everything happened so fast from that moment, people turned their backs at me blaming me, I was rushing things and I should be hearing from my parents; what I built in years was collapsing in weeks. Caleb moved as we agreed the department where we used to live must be sold, I quit my job, I lost <friends> and more but at the end of the dark tunnel I found a glimpse of light.

Mika’s family was a treasure for me in those days, Thomas I couldn't’ even find the words for telling him how blessed I feel having him by my side every step, my family are my biggest support all this time… still I was hurting more than I thought.

I barely slept, eating was the last thing on my list and when I did it it was the most unhealthy food in the world; I stopped caring about myself and body, I punished my mind with questions without an answer and thoughts that hurt me every second. Finally I see it, in all those years of relationship, I gave all and I cared so much for him, I settled with crumbles, every “I love you”, “Take care” with all the ways I could express it with actions had a lame answer, “Me too.”

I clear my throat and move to sitting in front of him. “Then you appear. The idea of going with Lewis this season is working on the shelter of course but getting me out of London, trying to recover something on me.”

Max grabs both of my hands and kisses them. “Your random comments, your caring about me without even knowing anything, your vitamins.” He laughs as he shakes his head. “Start to light something on me, you were fuel to me.”

“Y/N…” I feel the knot on my throat grow bigger but I’m ready to keep talking, he cleans a tear of my face. 

“You know I’m awful with words so I will paraphrase a movie quote.” I giggle and interlace our fingers. “Max, I was drawing when I met you; the first time you saw me next to the track I was feeling all I was doing was useless… but you and your hideous confident, sharp, lovely words and acts, made me feel so alive.” 

The tears rolling down my face as the cold breeze could make me shiver still Max holding me tight is enough. “And all I want to do is be near you, together.”

I exhale trembling but Max pulls me to stand letting I hide my face on his chest pressing me tighter, my tears roll.

Max kissed the top of my head. “I won't say it, not because I don’t feel it just because I want to make it special.” He said his mouth pressed against my head. “But I do too, very much.”

I giggle as I hug him tight, feeling lighter and bright. 

The whole weekend we spent in Newport feels like a dream; Max helped me to buy some things and supplies for I can have here. He knows with the shelter on construction I would stay some days here and I refuse to even think about running out of it.

“You’re leaving?” Thomas asked him after he leaves me in the shelter, the big structures are settling on their places making the noise around the place really loud.

Max doesn't let go of my hand even though I keep pulling to check some fields on the table. “Yeah, I have a triple header, again.”

Thomas nods as he gives the paper I was looking for the schedule of the month. “America?”

“Austin, Mexico and Brazil.” Like every week Thomas had barely time to breath with his schedule. 

“A triple win.” I said as I giggled without seeing them. 

Max shakes his head. “I know, I don’t have to say it but, could you…”

Thomas laughs. “Don't worry Max, Mika will come to pick her up in the week, her rehab begins this week and here, she will have her butt stuck to that chair.”

He pointed to the chair next to the fake window of the tent. “Far away from rocks and machines.”

“Ha ha ha, so funny.” Max growls when he feels his phone buzzing, time to go. “I’ll go with you to the car.”

We walk to his car as he observes and asks me about things he sees and finds complicated to understand.

“Be honest with me.” I asked him as we reached the car. “From 1 to 10 how high are the chances you dedicate a win to one of those races.” 

Max smirks. “From 1 to 10 how high are the chances you tell me where the hell you left my cast dedication.” 

“10 if you win one of the races.” Max laid back on the car pulling me by the waist. 

“One? Count with the three.” He grabs my face to give me a kiss but his phone buzzes one more time. “Oh my god!”

I push myself far away from him. “Go.” Max nods, opening the car door. “Drive safe.” Max nods. “Don’t make any reckless moves.”

He got out of the car to give me a peck with a smile on his face, before finally leaving the shelter.

Thomas reached me in the entrance. “He doesn't know, huh?” I smile, biting my lip. “He’ll melt on the track.”

Max fulfilled his words, the GP of Austin was a piece of cake, he won comfortably with Pastri behind him, my first dedication came in the press conference. 

“Max, what can you tell us about that uncommon celebration?” One of the reporters asked him.

After getting out of the car Max winks at the camera or at least he tries as he raises his finger, one of the first of three.

Max raises his shoulders with a serious face. “It came spontaneously after all it's, first of three.” His bloody soft smile at the end.

The GP of Mexico always came full of color and joy, it’s Checo home race so most of the cameras are surrounding him, anything can take Max by surprise.

“You fight with my sister?” I heard Lewis asking Max, leaving him speechless as he narrowed his eyes. 

“What? NO!” I couldn’t avoid laughing but I covered my mouth, any sound must escape, as I hid behind one of the walls of the Mercede building.

I arrived in Mexico a day before Max and even my brother does it, having as an accomplice Alexa and Charles, I had a few talks about the shelter with them but mainly I came for Max.

“Well, then what is this?” I perk up seeing Lewis extend his phone, as Max scroll holding a Red Bull on his other hand, his eyes turn wide open. 

I bet he’s seeing the post of Ferrari; a photo of me with Alexa and Leo in the paddock with the description, 

 >If you blink you could lose this moment. 😗

Followed by comments of, what the hell is happening, what this means if the rumors of relationship between Max and me are fake, Mercedes replay one of the comments were tagged.

 >Please tell us something @mercedesAMGF1.

 >We’re trying to figure it out. 🤨

Even Red Bull answered one of them.

 >What is happening here? @redbullracing 😭

 >As we find new information we let you know. 🧐

“What the fuck?!” Max shouts, drawing the attention from people around them, he takes out his phone, he’s calling me. “I'll find out.”

He starts to walk far away as Lewis keeps calling him.

I waited until Max disappeared in one of the hallways for running where Lewis is standing.

“You!” I hug him quickly as he's processing seeing me. “He's pissed off and has the worst, jealousy as hell.”

“I know.” I giggle. “Don't worry, I’ll see you later.”

I ran following Max path, I found him taking a small shortcut between the garages. It is the first day of practice so it isn't so crowded.

He keeps calling me for the way my phone keeps buzzing but when I silence reach him I raise my voice so he can hear me.

“Turn around!” Max jumps, turning around, his face fully red and a tense jaw.

“You!” Max scoffs looking with his eyes for a safe place for talking, when he finds it he grabs my hand dragging me there.

It’s a small room with a lot of microphones and wires all over the place, he locks the door and breathes in slowly, he’s confused and bothered.

“What are y…” I grab him by the neck pulling him for a kiss, a long one. “No, no, no, you’re trying to distract me.” 

I take my hands of him containing a smile. “Fuck!” This time Max grabs my waist to kiss me back.

“What does it feel like, huh? Being distracted while you try to work.” I said as we split. 

“What are you doing here?” Max adjusted his cap which moved for kissing me. 

“I have an invitation and a few business to solve with Charles and Alexa, so I came.” I wiped the lipstick off Max's lips. 

He saw his phone, in 20 minutes the practice begins, he has to go. “With Ferrari? Really?”

I giggle seeing his screen lights one, his team is looking for him. “So nice of them.”

Max scoff rolling his eyes. “Mercedes have you, I get it, family bonds and now Ferrari has you in his team.” Max sighs. “I just barely got you to be there for one race, unofficially.” Max raises his finger. “And you’re my girlfriend!”

From outside we can hear people walking so I cover his mouth, anyone could hear us, with a big smile on my face.

“You’re not that fast in everything.” Max scoffs. “But now I have to go, they are waiting for me to see the start.”

When I got out I could still hear him clearly. “I’ll give you something to smile at that big.”

Jealousy Max is on my top.