#should Jasmine get a tag? I'll think about it

[arrgh-whatever]

[http-shield]

daisies, i think- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: angst, budding friendship and romance, set in CA:CW timeline where Bucky is in Romania trying to piece back together his life, mixed POV ~ wc: 1.2k ~ not proofread

premise: ex-avengers employee, you have moved to Europe in order to get away from all things Shield. It is in Romania that you bump into a familiar man, a face you have only seen in the secret files you managed to get a glance at. You befriend the ghost of a man, determined to help him undo all the bad the world has done to him.

"You like Jasmine, right?" Bucky asks from across the small coffee table. 

"Uh, yeah. How did you-?" You grin at him, eyes squinting in apprehension at the sudden declaration. 

"I can remember some things," he answers and returns to the bowl of steaming noodles. "Not everything, but some things." the clarification comes a moment later. 

It's been two months since you moved into the small apartment on the outskirts of Bucharest. Two months of living in close quarters with Bucky, two months of getting to know him on a level you never thought you would. Two months. 

You clear your throat and ask. "What kind do you like?"

"Daisies. I think." He doesn't look up from his bowl, but you can see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I saw them a lot while…"

Still unsure of how to refer to the period when he wasn't himself. "They grow everywhere, so I can always find them, and they're nice to look at." 

The noodles sit abandoned in front of you now. Your attention has shifted wholly onto James, who continues to eat despite disclosing something that shattered your heart. He never stopped being that young boy who was lost, never stopped looking for life in the depths of hell, never stopped being Bucky. 

"You gonna write that in your book?" 

The question catches you off guard. 

"You have that little book you write in. I thought it was a diary but you only write in after I tell you something. Plus I saw my name a bunch’a times”

Your cheeks flush. 

"Is it bad stuff?" Bucky looks up now, blue eyes broken and defeated. 

"No! Nothing bad!" You rush to answer, scrambling for the book you tucked under the table and flip it open to your latest entry. "It's all good things, actually. Stuff that you like or remember or stories you tell me." 

Bucky's posture relaxes, shoulders sagging a little at the assurance you weren't keeping tabs on his slip-ups. 

You continue, opening to a page filled with drawings of stars and planets.  "This is when you told me that you went to the Stark expo before you shipped off and how you wished you could see space one day." you point to the stars that adorn the margin. "That's why there are little stars. I've been writing it all down so that if one day you need to remember something and we aren't together, I can give you the book, and you'll have all your memories." 

The heat in your cheeks deepens as you confess your reasoning behind the notetaking. 

"Steve, your umm…"

"I know Steve," Bucky confirms with a slight smile. 

"Steve has a book just like this with all the things he missed or wants to remember, so I copied him." it feels infantile using the word copied, but you can't think of anything better. "You can have it now if you want?'

"You leavin' me?" The sadness returns for a split second.

"No." your answer is firm. 

Light floods his blue eyes, shimmering like the sun on the ocean. "Then keep it. I'll take it when you finish it."

There's hope in his words. Determination that he will remember who he was and who he hopes to be. You find yourself smiling at that, admiring how much he is trying and how you can see yourself finishing this book and starting another.

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

"Do you think we should get some curtains?" your proposal has Bucky pausing in the kitchen, boiling water sloshing in the small pot he had just pulled from the stove.

He looks to the windows, plastered with newspapers to keep out prying eyes, and while he never thought about customising his apartment, your suggestion stirs something within him.

"If you want." the answer feels so domestic and ordinary that he forgets who and where he is. For a moment, he is no longer in a dingy apartment on the run and unstable in his own identity, but he is at home with you. He is in an apartment in Brooklyn, not far from where he grew up, in a small and cozy one-bedroom flat that he shares with you and your cat. You aren't the kind and strange girl who picked him up off the street like a stray, but you're so much more, someone he wishes he met in another life. He watches you frame the window with your fingers, face crinkled as you close one eye and determine the best shape and style of drapery for the space. His heart squeezes, a feeling wholly unfamiliar in his aching body.

"I can get some tomorrow after work?" another offer of complete and utter everyday ease. "Yellow? With daisies?"

Bucky grins at that.

"Or pink with jasmine?"

A small laugh escapes you, and you drop your hands. "One pink and one yellow?"

Bucky nods and returns to emptying that water from the pot, watching as the potatoes drop into the colander in the skin. He had offered to cook tonight, an easy recipe he had overheard while out today from two older ladies sitting in the square, their voices loud and bousitruous despite the sensitive nature of their conversation. The recipe was easy enough. Boil potatoes until soft, season them and cook them in the oven. Simple, easy. Perfect for his muddled mind to follow.

"Want help?" Your voice is closer, and Bucky jumps slightly. You reach out and grab his arm, hoping not to scare him further, but Bucky's heart starts in a race for an entirely different reason.

He gulps. "No need. thank you, ma'am." the words fall from his lips before his brain can form them.

"Ma'am?" you furrow your brows at him. "Where did that come from?"

Bucky turns to you, his face crinkled in confusion as he shakes his head. "I have no idea."

There is a beat of silence as you reach into your back pocket for the small book you had stuffed in there after your walk home. You open it to a blank page and date it to the top before writing your entry.

Calls people ma'am.

"Not people, women. " Bucky sighs as he reads over the edge of the paper. "Ladies, dames, girls."

"Dames?" laughter is building within you as he cites different words for women, most of which you hadn't heard outside of a movie from the forties.

You can't stop the laugh that spills from you, and soon, Bucky follows suit, enjoying how his stomach and shoulders feel as he laughs. It feels good, beyond good; its amazing, divine, marvelous, s'wonderful.

"You are a funny man, Bucky Barnes." You sigh as the laughter subsides, a hand sweeping over his shoulders. He notices how your fingers linger on the joint of his prosthetic arm, and for some reason, he doesn't feel as much guilt filling his stomach like lead. When they brush down his arms to entwine with his fingers, another sensation takes over his gut entirely. It's tingly and hot, twisting and sitting low in his body. He worries it's a bad feeling, familiar in a way that has his mind screaming, but there is no fear, no guilt, nothing but warmth like the sun on a winter's day, so he sits with it and lets you hold his hand until the timer on dinner dings.

a/n: apart of a bigger fic but this is sort of the first taste of it to see how I feel about writing/posting it.

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 4

WC: 439 Materpost CW: Mild Family Drama

Thankfully it wasn’t long before Danny could get home and take a hot shower. The casserole he’d taken out of the freezer was fine to go in the oven at that point, and he tossed it in as he finished drying off his hair. It was getting long again. He’d kept it a bit shorter since he’d started working and figured he’d be due for another cut soon. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to schedule it, or else he’d just put it off until it was unmanageable.

And then he was left staring at his phone.

Thinking about Jazz.

Maybe he should give her another call— another chance.

The phone was ringing before he had thought much about it.

“Danny?”

“Hi Jazz— Jasmine, sorry.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” she said, but Danny could hear the reprimand in her tone. “What going on?”

“I just…” Why was this so hard? “…wanted to call back? Our last call cut short and I didn’t get to tell you everything.”

“Lacey needed me.”

“That wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to say you shouldn’t have ended the call, I just thought I’d try again. I know you’re busy there. You’re still planning the baby shower, right? I’ve got some vacation—”

“Lacey and I talked, and we don’t think you should come,” Jazz said over him. “And not until the baby has been through all their major shots either. It’s just, you’re around disease a lot and we don’t want to take any chances. You get it, right?”

No, he really didn’t. He was emergency response. Jazz would know that if she ever listened to him.

“…Can I at least get the baby something? Do you have one of those list things?”

“It’s called a registry, Danny.”

Danny held back a sigh. He didn’t want this to end in a fight. “Okay, do you have a registry, Jasmine?”

“Of course we do. But we don’t expect you to get us anything off of it,” she said quickly. “We’ve picked out everything based on the latest research into cognitive development and reviews so nothing on it is… cheap.”

“I have a job.” This was going to be like the fight about his schooling all over again— where Jazz called his paramedical degree a trade school. Like there was something wrong with a trade school anyways. “Just send it through, okay? I’ll see whats on it and I won’t send anything that’s not. And I won’t try to visit.”

“Danny…”

“Give Lacey my best, I’ve got to go,” Danny said, hanging up before he could say the angry words that were bubbling up in his throat.

----- AN: So maybe I'm still not over my sil calling my masters of science a trade school. Though there is nothing wrong with a trade school at all and I'll fight anyone who says so. I honestly wished we had more of them in the US. But yep- I might have picked some of the less lovely traits of my sil and a friend to put into Jazz here. I'm not trying to bash her, I just think it would have been so easy for her to go this way if nothing ever came of her parent's research and she didn't have to adjust her world view to helping save her little brother's life nightly. And if all she saw in that little brother now was someone who supposedly didn't try and maybe resents for having to always be the Big Sister.

Danny could sure use some hugs though.

Due to the new post editor and being shadow banned, I no longer tag! You can subscribe to this post instead to be notified in the same way.

[asexualbookbird]

25 in 2025

Sigh. I've been bullied. I guess. I did a big swing and a miss on last years list, but I have a Plan this time. A Theme. A Goal. This will be mostly comprised of my Illumicrate books so I can decide if it is in fact worth it to keep my subscription going until the Alecto edition gets announced. If I don't actually enjoy the majority of the books in these boxes then what's the point, yknow?

So here's this years color key:

Green - Carry over from last year (not carrying over every missed book, which probably means I should just get rid of them huh)

Purple - Illumicrate books

Blue - I own these in physical form, but they're not from Illumicrate

Labyrinth's Heart by MA Carrick

The Faithless by CL Clark

The Art of Prophecy by Wesley Chu

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

City of Bones by Martha Wells

Witch King by Martha Wells

After the Forest by Kell Woods

Voyage of the Damned by Frances White

Of Jade and Dragons by Amber Chen

The Phoenix Keeper by SA Maclean

A Dark and Drowning Tide by Allison Saft

Until We Shatter by Kate Dylan

Mistress of Lies by KM Enright

Hammajang Luck by Makana Yamamoto

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T Kingfisher

The Bone Shard War by Andrea Stewart

The Last Hour Between Worlds by Melissa Caruso

The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal

He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker Chan

All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault by James Alan Gardner

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst

Can't Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne

In the Ravenous Dark by AM Strickland

A Conjuring of Light by VE Schwab

PHEW. Okay. A fw things to note. A Dark and Drowning Tide is an Illumicrate book, but I didn't pay for it. A friend gave it to me after I skipped that month because she wasn't interested. I always look up book spoilers and skip if I'm not interested and if I'm uninterested in any of the stuff I'll skip even if the book seems neat. That month the box was full of fandoms I didn't care about, so my friends said "here, take my copy" and I said "yay! Free book!"

The Last Hour Between Worlds I think was also an Illumicrate book? They do fanart for it so I assume it was at some point. I did not get it. This is not the IC edition. I was not thrilled about The Tethered Mage so I was going to get this out of the library. Then my mom bought it for me for the holidays. So yay! Free book!

I think I would also like to keep track of books I purchase this year. I'd like to cut down on buying books that I won't love. So I'd like to utilise my library more. Win win, I think! And that seems easier than a full out ban since yeah sometimes I do enjoy little treats! Books purchased for other people do not count, obviously.

There are also some books I'd like to reread this year, mainly The Bone Maker because I've been saying that since I read it the first time. And honestly, I've been chasing the same vibes and haven't been able to match it (Godkiller got close!).

As usual, I reserve the right to pretend this post doesn't exist, but I think I've set myself up for success here :)

I don't know who hasn't done this by now @logarithmicpanda ? Have you?? Consider yourself tagged >:3c

oh right I was bullied tagged by @bigcats-birds-and-books

[reriart]

Hi i saw your post about Percy headcannons and I was wondering if you could write about Percy together with an adhd reader and the readers meds make them lose their appetite and he helps them eat and just a generally fluffy headcannon?

Hiii! Thank you for asking :3 I have ADHD too, so I hope I somehow made the story more realistic. I hope you don't mind if I ended up writing a fanfic directly, I've been thinking about this comfort story for the entire day!

I'm safe with you.

Additional tags: reader has ADHD and they're using meds, stimming, food disorder, GN!Reader, not smut for once, love confession, very soft Percy. You can read it on AO3 too! Remember that English is not my native language (plus I've wrote it in the middle of the night). Divider: cafekitsune Summary: It has passed three days since the last time you've eat something. You fainted between Percival's arms, who is deadly worried for you.

“I swear I can burp louder than you!” Grog shouted, swaying the overflowing beer mug dangerously, then drinking it all in one gulp and loudly belching in front of Scanlan's face. 

“Pff. You're a rookie. Take that!” the bard replied, echoing the gesture but intensifying the sound through his magic.

The vigorous man crossed his arms over his chest. “That's not fair! I can't win that way!”

On your end, you stood in a corner at the very end of the table, smiling shyly. Or rather, it wasn't so much a shy smile as a nervous one, which exuded discomfort. The medicine that Whitestone's doctor had prescribed for you (Percival had insisted that you go there) tasted terrible and the side effects were even worse: nausea, tremors, lack of appetite, dizziness. Except for that last one, so far you had checked all three off your daily list. You hadn't told anyone about it, to avoid worrying anyone (or even worse, that someone would force you to stay at the De Rolo castle, especially if that someone was your boyfriend). Yet, as soon as you looked up from the plate full of beans and steaming beef, two pale green eyes, circled by an elegant silver frame, were there, staring at you. Eyebrows bent downward, lips half-closed as if to say something. Percy was doing the dishes -- it was his turn (and, besides, he was practically the only one respecting it, besides you) -- but he was close enough to know that something was amiss. Although his attentions were always appreciated by you, whatever their nature, you just wanted to stay by yourself that night. 

However, the first (and only) attempt to sneak away was a fiasco. Two steps and your knees collapsed like a potato bag. Thankfully, keeping you from hitting your head, Percy was right there. He had thrown the plates in the air to catch you on the fly. You felt your mind getting foggy, your mouth heavy. 

“Hey,” he said, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” “Mm-hm.” You didn't have the energy to think. Curling up in his arms suddenly seemed like the most reasonable choice. He smelled of jasmine and black powder. Around him, Grog, Scanlan and Vax also gathered.

“Maybe I'd better take you to the room. Hold on to me.”

“Do you need a hand?” asked the half-elf, frowning. 

“No, I thank you. I'll take care of it,” he replied, lifting you up and resting his arms behind his neck. Vax couldn't see it, but he was gently stroking your muscles with his thumbs. He loved to run his fingertips over your body, especially when he could get lost in making little circles. Somehow, he was giving comfort to both of you.

He carried you out of the huge dining room without saying anything else, holding you to his body. He was radiating a pleasant warmth, and you instinctively rubbed your face against his blouse on the way. Within minutes, you were in your bed, him sitting beside you, stroking your face.

“Hey,” he said smiling, stroking your cheek. “It's the medicine, isn't it? How long has it been since you've eaten?”

Three fingers up. You hadn't eaten for three days.

“Three days? Holy shit... you should have told me,” he remarked, running a gloved hand through his snow-white hair. 

“I didn't...want to worry you....” Guilt began to weigh down your heart, forcing you to bite your lips nervously and touch your fingertips to each other in a vain attempt to calm down, but it was only his hand under your chin that stopped the flow of obsessive thoughts. He forced you to look at him.

“It has to stop happening, okay? Talk to me. Let's communicate. You don't have to carry everything on your shoulders.”

Yeah. Percival was right. But it was so difficult even the act of thinking sometimes. Your head was perpetually bulging with thoughts, things to do, external stimuli, sounds, smells, textures. The missions, the places to explore and their dangers, the screaming, the blood, the metal, the fire. Medication had lessened all that, it was true. For a moment, sleep and daily life had become more bearable, but food had lost your attention. 

“I'm sorry.” You felt tears in the back of your eyes. The last thing you wanted was to make him angry. 

“You don't have to apologize to me,” he said softly, then stood up and reached for a pitcher and a glass of water. He filled it, handing it to you. “Let's start with the simple things. Drink a little.” 

Very quietly, the first sips went down your throat. Then, faster and faster. In a few moments you had swallowed all the water. Percival watched you from the edge of the bed, one hand on your leg distractedly playing with the fabric of your pants. 

“Good. Shall we try to eat something?”

Your stomach hadn't fully opened yet, but the idea of worrying your boyfriend made you feel worse. 

“W-What can I eat?”

“Let's see-I can get you a slice of cake, if Grog has left some. Gods, he eats like he's still about to grow!” she huffed, raising his hands to the sky and earning your laughter. His green eyes sparkled and he smiled back. “Wait for me.”

“E-even if I wanted to, I don't think I could move from here except as a worm. Crawling.”

He stood up, chuckling. “You're terrible,” he said, kissing your forehead and then pointing toward the door. “I'll be right back.”

You spent the next few minutes looking at your hands. How worn they were ... then, flashes of hands covered by leather gloves: protecting your fingers, squeezing them, medicating them. Not a moment had passed since you had met Percival De Rolo that those hands had been left to their fate. Since he had become your boyfriend, then, less so. The knuckles had been kissed, the hands held on your warm, milk-white chest. Loneliness was but a distant memory, but ... having someone taking care of you was far beyond your expectations. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of the wooden door and the rush of cold air against your skin. Percival was holding not one, but two slices of chocolate cake, rigorously arranged on finely decorated plates. He placed one of them on your thighs, held the other in his hand, then sat back down on the edge of the bed. 

“Can you sit closer?” 

“How much closer?” “Here. Let's eat together.”

Percy, being very careful not to let his dessert fly onto his jacket, settled down next to you at your pat on the mattress. You rested your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, and he rested his own on top of you. Your free hands sought each other, entwining. It was a quiet, long minute, except for your breaths in the cold room. Then, he broke the silence.

“I know it's hard -- but really, let me carry some of your struggles on my shoulders.”

“Percy...you just got a demon off your fucking back, why don't you leave them in peace?”

“Because I love you.”

You almost had a stroke. Yes, you were now a couple (in a very adolescent way, had been your response after an initial, very shy kiss and his question, “What are we?”), but you had never confessed to each other, you had limited yourselves to a few brief contacts of hands, arms and yes, occasionally lips. Things between you were complicated, mainly because neither of you had ever been in a steady relationship and everything was pretty new. 

And just as you opened your mouth to respond, a forkful of cake flew down your throat, followed by her laughter. 

“Percy! I was going to choke-”

A blow kiss sealed your lips. “Maybe I found a way to get you to eat more often.”

[gx-gameon]

Since it was mentioned in a few posts that Seto was not informed of Banner's death, I can only imagine how he reacts to the FULL LIST of people that need to be replaced. Jaden: Yeah, so the janitor, a security guard, and the secondary nurse were actually Shadow Riders-slash-Duel Spirits, our Alchemy teacher-slash-Occult history teacher and head of Slifer Red was a Shadow Rider too and he was in a homunculus body so I might be having nightmares from finding his mummified corpse, oh and the Superintendent was the leader of the Shadow Riders and was in this weird life support system before he got young and swole so yeah you need to replace a lot of people. Seto: **trying to figure out how he's going to replace 5 positions over the course of a summer because they need to be good duelists too** Joey: ...I'll check with Mai to see if she's still in touch with Valon and his crew. Vivian too; they were close in the tag battle circuit. Yugi: Thank you Joey. I'll see if Bakura wants to replace Banner. I'm sure he would love to teach children about the Dark Arts.

You are correct. Seto sits Jaden down and is like okay the head of your dorm is dead. Who else is gone? *Insert your whole conversation here* Seto breaks something. That’s so many people to higher.

And you’re so right Bakura with his occult deck would be all over teaching children about the Dark Arts. He’s offended he wasn’t the first choice.

And I love Joey being like “we know people! Competent people!”

I was thinking about (and I can’t take full credit for this because I saw it floating around like 6ish years ago) Joey taking over as the head of the Slifer Dorms. Who beater than the king of the underdogs, who has the most growth in his series, to take the Slifer’s and raise them up. He’s the third best duelist in the world he’s got the credentials for it.

But I don’t think I can do it in this au because you know Joey would hear “there’s and evil cult in school grounds brainwashing people to join it” and he go, “not this crap again” as he struts across campus to handle this. Jaden and his gaggle of friends following behind thinking “omg we’re going to see Joy Wheeler duel!” And it turns into “omg we’re watching Joey Wheeler physically beat cult leader!” Joey, and exclent duelist and could win said I’m doing what I should have done the first time, and beats the crap out of Sartorius.

Sartorius: “ah Mr. Wheeler have you come for a duel” think he’s about to get Joey under his control.

Joey: rolling up his sleeves “not quite”

So ya Joey can’t be then head of Slifer dorm because season 2 would not happen or it would be greatly altered. Aster Phoenix shows up talking trash and trying to duel Jaden, ya no uncle Joey I mean Professor Wheeler said no.

They blow Jaden’s identity in a week because Joey watches Jaden win a duel and yells “that’s my nephew!!!!” Everyone looks at him “I mean my student!!!!” Everyone knows but Jaden and jeoy keep acting like they don’t.

Honestly this might have to be an au of my own au or I’ll make a new cannon where Joey is in charge of Slifer dorm from season 2 onwards (in a world where it’s cannon Jaden maybe??)

But the idea of Mai, Valon, Raphael, Vivian or Rebecca coming to teach is very fun.

It makes me want to add more of the cast in

Obviously Bakura is the occult teacher (wild that’s a job)

Maybe Serenity comes to work as the nurse (going into medicine after her eye surgery)

Duke teaches game making (an actual track the kids at duel academy can take)

Mai takes over the girl dorms and force them to allow more girls in (why are all girls automatically Obelisk? Do they only let in the best of the best girls and the mediocre boys can get in? You can’t convince me Mindy and Jasmine are the “best of the best” honestly I need someone to give me the enrollment rules for this school. Because I feel most of obelisk blue bought their way in and then there is everyone else. The red and blue uniforms being made girl and boy uniforms in 5Ds makes way more sense then what ever enrollment and ranking system is going on in Gx)

Also I’ve always loved Valon and Raphael and having them come in as security guards or something could be hilarious because the students are used the the security being pseudo military. Someone breaks the rules in season 2 and are expecting the military security but instead these three jacked bickers show up at their door. Because those three are not wearing any uniform.

I don’t know if any of this will be cannon but having Serenity on campus would actually be really fun. I wish we had more of her in cannon and her being the nurse puts her in an “active role” for season 3

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Thirteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

AO3 Link

High Valyrian Translations (the longer sentences are within the text)

kasto bratsiot - Green Bitch valonqus - little brother hunītsos - little rabbit mo realta geal - you'll find out when Aegon does ;)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - I'll Be a Better Man

Jace witnesses a mostly normal family dinner among the Greens. Aegon and Abby choose each other.

Jace wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“Your collar is fine,” Baela said, teeth clicking in the anxious way she had but would never admit to. She was every inch Velaryon and Targaryen both, the gown she wore in the Pentoshi style. Black silk skimmed her swarthy and sun freckled skin, a deep v cut down her chest, the gown held closed with deep red, braided clasps. A matching cape fell in the same black silk from her shoulders down to her knees, the three headed dragon woven across the midnight expanse in the same shade as the decoration on her dress. A silver necklace was her only jeweled adornment: a seahorse and a dragon entwined around her throat.

She reached up, tugging on the collar of his dual colored doublet for emphasis, the Velaryon seahorses stitched in contrasting reds and blacks ringing around his neck. His wild curls were braided back to the base of his neck, tied with black cord and the rest curling against his neck. His mother had thought to cut his hair before he left, but was proud of his hair, and called her jealous when she was stuck with pin straight hair woven into braids.

It felt wrong to wear the colors of his mother’s house, when she still held the Velaryon sigil on her coat of arms, when his name was still Velaryon and he would not become Targaryen until he ascended the throne.

‘Who am I fooling?’ Jace wondered to himself. ‘None here look at me and think Targaryen or Velaryon.’

“You’re doing it again,” his sister snapped, tugging him into an alcove in the hall. Jace’s cheeks flamed at the closeness, smelling the jasmine perfume she favored.

“Doing what?” A pitiful protest that she didn’t buy and her violet eyes narrowed. It was not so long ago she might have distracted him with wandering hands and mouths, two bored teenagers on a lonely rock in the middle of the sea with not much else to do. That time had long passed and Jace was sure that were she to touch him now, he would not come away unscathed.

“Thinking about those foolish things that ended on our parents’ graves,” Baela hissed at him. In the arms of their dual tragedies, in the glow and shadow in the great hall of Driftmark, his concerns should have been put to bed. Jace had said the words he knew would ignite his mother, unclear of the true consequences.

Both corpses had succumbed to the flame. Jace wondered if that was the doom in his dragonblood, for all whom he cared for fated to die screaming.

Jace tugged at his doublet again and let out a hissed, “Ow!” when Baela smacked his hands.

“You’re serving on his council. You should have been serving for years now had your mother not run from the fight.”

Jace drew back at the accusation towards his mother, a snarl in his voice. “You don’t know what she went through living here, you wouldn’t say that if you knew-”

“Then she should have had the king put a stop to it, had that kasto bratsiot dragged and fed to Syrax for her treason, sent her and her whelps back to the Maester’s hold. It’s what I would have done.” Baela turned and spat on the floor to illustrate her disgust. Jace clapped a hand over her mouth and with two strides, pushed her against the wall.

“Daor,” he hissed, continuing in Valyrian. “Do not speak about things you weren’t there for and that you don’t understand.” Her wide eyes stared back at him in surprise at his anger and Jace drew back, disliking his reaction but the anger bubbled beneath the surface, unrepentant. Baela had not witnessed the growing anxiety his mother faced during their years here. Baela had not witnessed his mother’s furtive tears after a family dinner, or the clench of her jaw as he heard whispers of cruel words thrown her way as they walked the halls to his lessons. His mother was happier on Dragonstone than he had seen her in this place. “What is done is done, there is no going back. Choices were made, and now I make my own. You make your own.”

“They’ll put your drunken uncle on the throne without your mother here,” she whispered and Jace was relieved that the odds of anyone overhearing them and understanding were next to none. He doubted any of the servants around the keep knew enough Valyrian to follow the whispered conversation.

“They’d try it if she were too. Of course they would,” Jace said with a shake of his head. “Anyone in Alicent Hightower’s position would.” It did not excuse the way his step grandmother had treated his mother, but Jace had seen enough snipping at court on Dragonstone to realize that this wasn’t just an exception.

Baela had nothing to say to that and Jace moved away until his back hit the wall. It was quiet between them until they heard a pair of footsteps and soft voices.

“That was foolish and you know it, Aemond,” Helaena’s voice drifted down the hall. Jace’s widened eyes met Baela’s own and together, they shrunk further back into the shadows of the alcove.

“I was simply having a bit of fun, showing them what a true Targaryen dragonrider looks like.” Aemond’s reply was light and jesting, but the bitterness in his words were unmistakable. “Had they come on their dragons, perhaps we could have had more fun.”

“You never used to be this reckless.”

“Well I also used to have two eyes and we all know how that went,” he snapped back and the footsteps stopped abruptly. His voice went softer. “I apologize, heltar gevie. I do not mean to take my frustrations out on you.”

Footsteps resumed, lighter ones, before the heavier footfalls followed. “Yes, you do,” Helaena said firmly. “You never apologize, and attempting to do so changes nothing.”

“I’m not trying to change anything, Helaena.”

Helaena’s voice was anxious. “You need to be more careful, valonqus. You are running down a path we cannot follow.” There was a soft sound, like the jangle of bracelets. “Please cease your baiting, if not for my sake, then for mother’s.”

Aemond made a low sound in the back of his throat and Jace held his breath as his uncle’s shoulder appeared in view. It was by the grace of whatever gods looked over him that his blind eye was to the alcove and so he could not see. He was clad all in black, his straight, silver hair falling just past his shoulders, pulled back from his face with three braids. Around the side, Jace saw Helaena’s smaller shadow cast across the ground.

His uncle continued down the hall towards the solar, leaving Helaena standing in the patch of torchlight. Her gown was pale blue, with shimmers of silver thread woven through the fabric in the shape of dragons. A wide, silver belt cinched about the waist and the two swathes of blue fabric covered her, but left bare an expanse of pale skin from her sternum to her collarbones. The gown had another silver clasp at each shoulder to keep the fabric in place and Jace’s eyes fixated on the dusky little moles dotted across the skin she revealed. Her curls hung free around her shoulders and down to her waist, a loose net of winking diamond and pearls covering her hair like a makeshift veil.

Starlight in the night.

She blinked and turned her head slightly and Jace swore that their eyes met. Lavender against lavender. Then, Helaena spun on her heel and followed her brother down the hallway.

“I do not wish to be here among all the dramatics,” Baela muttered as the pair of them followed a distance behind Helaena’s drifting blue form. Jace rolled his eyes.

“As if home is any better?” he said rhetorically. In some ways yes, in other ways, there was little escaping his mother and Daemon’s more passionate arguments that would carry across the castle. It got a chuckle from Baela, so Jace considered it a win.

The family dining hall was a small affair, dominated by a long, ornately carved trestle table that could comfortably seat twenty, but that night only needed space for eleven. He was relieved that they would not be sat all on top of one another. The king was getting settled in his chair at the left end of the table, Lord Otto Hightower at his left hand.

Across at the other end stood the queen, resplendent in a gown so dark a green it was nearly black, save for the shimmer of it in the candlelight, the bodice clinging to her from neck to wrist. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a low bun and upon her head sat a silver dragon diadem, its wings spread out on either side and a pear shaped ruby made up the body of it.

Her brother, Ser Gwayne, was a head taller than his sister, with sharp cheekbones like Aemond’s, and large, dark brown eyes with a smirk that reminded him of Daemon. He was surprised to see the shock of blonde hair upon the man’s head. It was darker than the Targaryen silver, a slightly lighter shade than his father.

Jace felt the gaze of all three Hightowers flick in his direction and he kept his shoulders straight, his head held high, and a genial smile on his face. “I do hope we aren’t late,” he said with a laugh, leading the way into the dragon’s den.

If he was a dragon, so were his uncles and aunt. They were all blood of the dragon, regardless of those who tried to mold them differently, or tried to claim him and his siblings as lesser.

“Only late if I declare it so, and you are the guest of honor, my boy,” the king laughed, raising his goblet to be filled. “Come, sit, let us drink and be merry this evening.”

Jace took his place at his grandfather’s right hand, doing his best to ignore the dual stares of Otto Hightower across from him and Aemond’s wrathful, violet gaze from his seat beside his grandsire. Baela took her place beside him, and next to her, Helaena slid into her seat, speaking to Aegon on her right about her mantis. Daeron was at the end, chirping excitedly to his mother. To the Queen’s right sat Ser Gwayne, and in the chair between him and Aemond, sat Abrogail. Stiff and silent, Jace hadn’t even noticed her when he came in. Her blue eyes were large in her round face, her gown cut across the shoulders, deep blue fabric with a shimmering, dark green pattern that made it look like her dress was made of river water. The slashes in her tight sleeves revealed the deep red gown beneath, and her hair was held back in a braided crown woven with pearls, the rest falling down her back like a river of red.

Her gaze rose, large and blue rimmed with kohl, and she nodded to him in greeting. Jace returned it, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. He had always gotten along with Abrogail, even when he was often pitted against Aegon in terms of “rescuing” her in their childhood games. There was always a degree of separation between them that he hadn’t really thought of, but when he watched the way she cocked her head as Luke did, and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at something Daeron had said, he felt the understanding of why that he hadn’t as a boy. He had never registered the physical similarities, so focused on dark hair and pug noses as everyone had been in his eyes.

Jace let out a long breath and pulled Baela’s chair out for her, which she took with sweeping grace. Despite the earlier tension, she nodded to Helaena. “You look lovely tonight. The shade of blue suits you well, cousin.” It seemed that Helaena’s threats had earned Baela’s hard won respect, for her tone lacked the feral edge of taunt, of laying a trap, that it held with those that she did not care for.

“Thank you, Princess,” Helaena returned and then, far more softly, Jace barely heard her say, “You breasts look fantastic.”

Baela’s face twisted in a bark of laughter, choking into the goblet of wine she had just lifted to her mouth, and Jace caught Helaena’s innocent grin on her pleasant features, her own shoulders twisting and Jace quickly glanced away, grateful to see Lord Otto softly conversing with the king.

“My good-brother, Lord Rodrik, and Lord Jason Lannister will be attending council on the morrow to discuss issues with the Ironborn. It appears their summer raids have continued longer than anticipated. If it weren’t for the celebrations, Lord Jason would have stayed to defend the coast.”

The king hummed.

“A prayer before we begin?” Alicent’s usually sharp voice was soft yet guiding, echoing from the other end of the table and the conversations quieted. Hands were joined around the table and Jace did his best to suppress the shiver when he took his grandfather’s fragile hand.

Baela’s brow furrowed at Jace, sending him a silent, confused look as they joined hands and he gave a slight shrug. His step-grandmother had always been a woman of faith, that he knew, and so prayer at mealtimes was not unheard of, but not a practice on Dragonstone, or it seemed, on Driftmark. Most certainly not under Daemon’s eye.

“Mother, we thank you for the health and well being of our family as we come together for the first time in many years to break bread.” Jace chanced a glance sidelong at his grandsire, whose eyes were closed in prayer, and a flick across the table to Lord Otto, whose head was bowed as the penitent words flowed. Even Aemond sat there, head bowed. “May the Smith help us mend and forge new bonds that have been fractured. May the Warrior give strength to our king. May the Father smile down upon our coming celebrations.”

“Thank you, your grace, for those words,” Jace forced out with a smile and an incline of his head. He would not give Alicent Hightower a reason to throw cruel words at him, or find something wanting in his presentation. He was his mother’s heir, third in line, and no words of spoiled blood or pug noses would take hold on him like a barnacle to a hull.

Alicent watched him for a long moment, mouth pressed into an uncertain expression before easing slightly. “Thank you, Jacaerys.”

The doors to the back of the room opened, tucked in an alcove with a tapestry pulled aside and the servants entered, clad in simple white and red garb. The minstrels took their place near the door to the room and struck up a gentle tune. The first course brought out was a salad of sweet and bitter greens with candied almonds and a steaming broth full of root vegetables, with warm loaves of fresh bread stuffed full of saffron and currants. The table was awkwardly quiet at first, the dominant conversation being Daeron’s excited chatter as he spoke about the trip from Oldtown.

“They cheered for us!” Daeron exclaimed. “Tessarion flew across Highgarden and everyone cheered to see us. And I got to see Garmund - he’s a page for Lord Tyrell now, and they left a few days after us. We took the Mander up and I saw Lord Fossoway at Cider Hall, and then Bitterbridge and we got off at Tumbleton and Aemond! We saw Vhagar! She was flying over the Kingswood. ‘Twas brilliant! She scared half the guards with us, since the only dragon they’d ever seen was Tessarion.”

The exuberance of his younger brother brought a hint of a smile across Aemond’s scowling face, and his violet gaze shifted from where he watched Jace and Baela to look down the table, leaning closer towards Abrogail who was smiling indulgently as she soaked her bread in the soup.

“Did you? She quite enjoys it out there, and roosts in the cliffs. Perhaps she thought Tessarion was a screeching swan.” Helaena giggled and Daeron sputtered in indignation at the tease.

Even Otto Hightower looked amused, a strange fondness in his expression while the king was content to enjoy his course, humming occasionally and giving a hint of a smile before drawing Lord Otto into conversation about the Westerlands and the Ironborn.

It struck him as odd. Had he not missed Daeron? Was he not interested in the journey from one coast of their land to the other? And all the boy had seen? Daeron was talking about the small villages along the Mander, and how Ser Gwayne had explained the river villages were similar to those of the Riverlands themselves.

“The Mander comes from some spring deep in the mountains around Tumbleton,” Abrogail explained. “Were it not so, it might be possible to dig a canal to connect the Mander to Blackwater Rush. Wouldn’t it be extraordinary to travel by boat from Oldtown all the way to Harrentown?”

The empty bowls were in the process of being taken away and replaced with trenchers of broiled pork, the scents of arbor red and ginger wafting from the crackled fat. Individual meat pies arrived, stuffed full of beef and cloves, cinnamon and carrots that Baela beside him dug in with gusto. There was no fish, thankfully, for Jace was tired of fish.

“Can you imagine the amount of pleasure barges that would come out of such an endeavor?” Ser Gwayne laughed. “See the sights of the Mander to the desolation of Harrenhal.”

“Harrenhal is not desolate,” Abrogail said, teeth catching on her lower lip as if she could not believe the words came out of her. “Our family has worked tirelessly since it was so graciously gifted to us by his Grace’s grandfather to uphold Princess Rhaena’s care for it.”

“Abby is more interested in aqueducts and cisterns for now,” Aegon said, drawing Jace’s attention to the first words his uncle had spoken all through dinner. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that the pair of them matched - the only difference in their clothing was Jace’s doublet was black on the left side, and Aegon’s was black on the right side. Outside of the accidental coordinating outfits, Jace’s eyes darted back to Abrogail’s. Her cheeks were flushed.

“I’ve been meaning to study the plans for Queen Alysanne’s cistern network,” Jace blurted out before he thought too much on whether or not it was a good idea to do so. He ignored the way Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent’s gazes swiveled to him.

“They’re quite fascinating,” his aunt, no, his soon to be aunt, said softly, but there was a hopeful look in her gaze. “Aemond and I looked over them while I was working on my plans for Harrenhal.”

Aemond’s violet gaze was boring into him. Jace focused on Abrogail beside him. “I’d love to see them when you have time after all the festivities.”

She smiled then, cheeks dimpling in the way Joffrey’s did, and it made Jace’s heart ache with a sensation of loss, of things that could have been. “I would enjoy that very much. Perhaps we should include Ser Gwayne in the review, so he may be reassured he’s not being sent away to a desolate ruin.” Gwayne winked at her and Jace caught the way Aegon tapped his ringed fingers against his own goblet, watching the interaction at play before him with a scowl.

“Uncle Gwayne and Daeron will accompany Aegon and Abby to Harrenhal,” Helaena explained to Baela, who barely spoke over the course of the meal and instead was watching their family with slightly narrowed and suspicious eyes. “So it’ll be the four of us here.”

“Such fun, won’t it be, nephew,” Aemond said, droll with a smirk cut across his mouth as he drank from his goblet.

Jace met the smirk with his own smile. “Of course it will, Uncle. Just like we were boys in the training yard. I look forward to testing our mettle with one another. I have fond memories of such things, and grandfather enjoyed himself, didn’t he? What was it, grandfather? We push one another down, pull each other up?”

“Hear hear!” the king agreed with a jovial laugh, rasping and amused. “We’ll throw a proper tourney for your nameday, eh?” He reached out to pat Jace’s hand and Aemond’s own fingers clenched around his goblet.

“Well, Jace’s nameday has already passed along with Aemond’s,” came Helaena’s soft voice. “But mine is next and I think I should like a beehive of my very own. Perhaps I could take the ones over in Rhaenys’ garden? By grandfather’s tower.” She cocked her head. “The apis mellifera are quite fascinating creatures, you know. Why, I read an account that explained that after the drone impregnates the queen, their genitals are ripped out and explode, having fulfilled their purpose.” Helaena hummed, thoughtful. “Truly, it is quite common in the animal kingdom for the male of the species to be subservient to the female. Perhaps I could interest you in exploring this endeavor with me, Baela? Since Jace and Aemond will be too busy hitting one another with long sticks in the yard.”

Escaping her brother’s apartments to the gardens could not have happened sooner. Two days before, the Westerlands party had arrived.

Jason Lannister made his entrance with all the pomp and circumstance the Warden of the West commanded, and was accompanied by her grandfather, Lord Rodrick Reyne of Castamere, and her half-sister in tow.

Corynna Strong had married the third Lannister, Erwin, when Abby was still a little girl. She had not seen her sister in years, not since their father and Harwin had passed. Cory had insisted on taking her to the Westerlands, to Casterly Rock and away from everything she had known and loved, all for some excuse that ‘Abrogail needs a mother now and she should be with her kin.’ Abby had sobbed into Queen Alicent’s lap, beseeching her cousin to let her stay. The memories of Alicent holding her much as she had done when Abby was small and her mother was ill, the kindness that had become fleeting within Alicent Hightower had come, continued to feel confusing in light of her recent treatment.

‘Do not cry, dear, sweet girl. You will stay here, with us. I will care for you.’

Cory had returned to Casterly Rock as there was no way to reject the Queen’s declaration, more annoyed, Abby thought, with the lack of control over someone else than any real upset. She’d given birth not long after to her first child, and it was all for the best, it seemed.

With very little of an actual relationship, it seemed Cory was making up for lost time, diving into a series of criticisms and demands at what Abby should be doing. Pinching at her upper arms and hips, clucking her tongue and commenting how she looked sickly, brows arched in disapproval at the new gowns, ready to demand new ones made until Abby found her frozen voice and said that the queen herself had approved them.

She released a long, shuddering breath and took in the air of the garden and the scent of the hydrangeas that surrounded that particular part of the path.

“There is nothing wrong with my dress,” she muttered to herself. Her underdress was a dark, oxblood red linen, black lacing along her forearms. The loose surcoat fell around her, dark blue and green damask edged in black instead of her usual silver. Her hair was unkempt, loose and wild around her shoulders, twisting down to just past her waist like an urchin.

Another sigh and she smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and turned to go back inside only to run face first into Ser Edmund Vance’s chest.

His warm hands grasped her by the arms, laughter low and vibrating through him. “Easy there, Lady Abrogail,” he said, and she felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Whatever are you running from?”

“Ru-running?” she stuttered in confusion, and drew herself away from the warmth of the older man and his refreshing care and kindness. “Oh, it’s all so much inside. I came looking for some fresh air, really.” Abby swallowed and cleared her throat. “Have you too come to take a turn about the gardens? We could walk together.”

Edmund gazed down at her, head cocked as if she were something amusing and he reached up to tenderly tuck some of her wild hair behind her ear. His finger gently traced the shell of it and Abby was helpless to hold back the shiver that snaked pleasantly down her spine. His light brown hair gleamed golden in the sunlight, every inch as valiant and noble as Ser Gwayne Hightower, every inch as handsome.

And he seemed interested in her.

Nothing could come of that. She was betrothed after all. But it wasn’t as if it was all official quite yet; only rumor and talk and they could very well declare that he’d marry Cassandra Baratheon at the feast instead of her.

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they headed down the terrace into the garden maze of flowering bushes. It was just them, it seemed, and Abby’s belly fluttered at the daring impropriety of it all.

‘If Aegon can gallivant into brothels after making hollow promises, I can enjoy the companionship of a handsome man.’ Besides, it wasn’t as if Abby was planning to sleep with him.

“Abrogail is not a name I’ve heard before,” Edmund chuckled as they walked together through the gardens.

Abby shook her head, a bright smile crossing her face. The truth of it was something that made her feel close to her athair, the love in the name more than enough to make up for strange looks. “No, my father found it in a book during his studies at the Citadel. Abrogail was the name of a Shadowbinder of the supposed founding of Asshai. It’s said that after raising the city, she retreated to Stygai, the City of Ash, where she has ruled in the dark for a thousand years, with her corpses and dragons.” A laugh escaped her. “He always liked the name, and was quite content that I had no desire to flee to Asshai to learn blood magic.” Edmund’s face was the picture of surprise and disbelief, and his laughter joined hers, warm and hearty.

“You? Named for a demon witch from Asshai? I never would have thought it,” Edmund said with a shake of the head. “You are as far from such a beastly creature as they come.”

“Why thank you, Ser Edmund. I am reassured to know that my schemes to bind all of Westeros through blood sacrifice and fire are still hidden.”

Their eyes met and Ser Edmund let out a laugh. The sound was lower than before, though no less warm, and it settled in Abby’s belly, the feeling now familiar from all the times that Aegon had roused it to the surface in her. He looked down at her, his hazel eyes hooded and Abby felt herself freeze. She knew that look now, she knew what it predated, and yet she did not move away, she did not raise her hands to stop him. Instead she bit her lower lip, worrying at the flesh there. Edmund raised a hand, his thumb gently swiping at her mouth.

“That is too sweet a mouth to destroy so, my lady,” he murmured.

‘When had he stood so close?’ Abby wondered, for there were only a scant few inches between them now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes downcast, the familiar words falling from her lips though she knew that she had no reason to apologize to the man before her. She owed him nothing. Yet her feet stayed firmly planted where they were.

Edmund’s thumb and forefinger found her chin, tilting her face up toward his. He smiled at her then, a slow, easy expression, and something fluttered to life in her belly, though she was not sure if it was desire or anxiety. Time seemed to still and Abby opened her mouth to make some excuse, to pull away, to head back inside to deal with her frustrating sister. But then Edmund’s lips were on hers, a soft weight that silenced her.

‘He is so warm.’ That was her first thought as his hand cradled the soft curve of her jaw. He deepened the kiss then, a swipe of his tongue against her own. It was so different from how Aegon had kissed her. There was no battle for dominance that she was expected to lose, no licking flame of the desire that had built and built for years now. It was a nice kiss, she supposed, and Edmund was a nice man. For a moment she leaned into him, tasting him, allowing him to guide her face just where he wanted it, allowing him to lead.

The confusing feeling in her belly grew and she knew it now for what it was - a distinct sense of wrongness. For all that Aegon was, and for all that he was not, he was hers. Edmund was not, would never be.

She pulled away, ever so slightly, tilting her face back toward the ground as the heat built in her cheeks.

“Come now, Abrogail, demon queen of Asshai,” he whispered. The sound of his voice was rough, like water over the stones of the river, and it tugged at something in her, something she had only so recently discovered. He leaned in once again, this time crowding her against the wall, his mouth on hers. Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into his doublet, just as the cold stone of the wall seeped through her gown, shocking a gasp from her. “I knew you didn’t find me so terrible.” The edge of laughter in his voice should have calmed her. Instead discomfort skittered uncomfortably over her skin.

‘He doesn’t taste right,’ she thought, and as quickly as the thought came, Abby pushed it stubbornly away. Then, just as quickly, she realized he had not used her proper title. The intimacy of it doubled the uncertainty she felt and her struggling attempts to figure out how to release herself from it.

“Should I think you so terrible, Ser Edmund?” she asked him. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed herself on her toes to kiss him, to ignore the discomfort that she was feeling and tell herself that this was more than fine. Helaena had kissed other boys than just Aemond or Warren Fossoway. She had overheard Cassandra Baratheon whispering about stolen kisses behind tapestries and in alcoves with some lord. She too should get her share of kisses. Even when they didn’t make her ache low in her belly, it still stroked at the shivery bit that made her want.

Even if the kiss was only nice, even if he pressed his body against her more and stroked the heat of his palm against the curve of her waist, slipping beneath the fabric of her surcoat to bunch at the linen at the base of her spine.

A sound of protest tore from Abby and she pushed at Ser Edmund’s chest, but he did not move. He seemed to take her sound for one of desire and dropped his hand from her jaw to the curve of her breast. The discomfort and warring desire flared hot and instinct drove her. She lifted her hand and clawed her fingers across the side of the knight’s neck, unable to get her knee up or hope to push him away, to do what Harwin had taught her.

To do all the things she didn’t need to when it came to Aegon.

It was Edmund’s turn to hiss, and he drew back with a startled look. The hand that had been on her breast reached up to clap against his neck and she could see the lines of crimson her nails left in their wake.

“Unhand me,” she snapped, cursing the tremble in her voice, and shoved at his chest, trying to get his arm out from under her gown.

“Are you trying to live up to the moniker, Abrogail?” He asked in amused confusion, looking at the red on his fingertips.

“Lady Abrogail, Ser Edmund,” she forced out. Her hands were trembling and she shoved him back again now that there was some space between them. He faltered back a few steps, and Abby tried not to think that he’d done it to make her feel better, not because there was actual strength behind it, and the thought of it was almost enough to have her claw across his handsome laughing face. “You overstep with your familiarity.”

“Have I? Was it not you who kissed me just now?” He tilted his head, regarding her like a child. “How can one overstep when one has been invited.” It wasn’t a question, and Abby’s cheeks burned at the truth in his statement.

“I-I did not invite you to touch me that way, ser.” Her fingers curled against her belly but she forced them down into fists at her side, refusing to let him see how desperately she wanted to protect herself. “And you did not move when-”

“Many women give such protestations, Abrogail-”

“Lady Abrogail, ser.”

A smirk played across his handsome face, another shake of his head, and the condescension she felt from him reminded her of the same that she felt from the queen. She felt trapped and confused at the idea that these people thought her a little girl, a naive child, yet put her in these positions and expected something more of her.

The way she had expected more from Aegon.

‘You put yourself into them’, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like her brother, Larys, curled unpleasantly in her mind.

“If you’re trying to insinuate that ladies do not play at the occasional dalliance within the gardens and in the shadows of a keep, Lady Abrogail, then you have much to learn.” He reached up to try to brush her hair from her face once more and she snarled at him, reaching up to claw at the back of his hand, this time like a feral cat. She gripped his hand, nails cutting into the skin, and tore quickly.

“Leave marks,” Harwin had told her, cupping her face in his hands with the most serious look she’d ever seen. “Should someone hurt you, you tear at them like the pikes in the Red Fork in a feeding frenzy, so none could ever have cause to doubt you.”

She wanted Harwin then, to stand between her and this awful man who had come to her in friendship and kindness.

Yet, Harwin was dead and she was alone.

“I do not wish to learn anything from you, ser, if you only wish to speak down at me so.” Her voice did not tremble this time and her fists clenched in her skirt, ignoring the shine of red beneath her nails.

“Oh, but I’m sure the drunken princeling they mean to shove into our lands is an eager teacher, hm?” He chuckled at whatever look must have been on her face. “Your father was one of the smartest men in the realm, and they say you are clever as well. Do not tell me you are distracted by the gold and the titles.” He advanced and she retreated, her back hitting the wall once more, but she would not shrink against it. “If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening. You, my lady, need people on your side and I am happy to be your stalwart advocate.” His voice lowered. “Your shield. Your teacher. Your-”

“Prince Aegon is my betrothed. He is my shield, my defender, and I am his. Do not mistake the colors of my bridal cloak for the loss of my family name and my loyalty to the rivers. I am Lady Strong, and my children will be raised in our way, blood of the dragon or not. If you dare to insinuate that my marriage has compromised the honor of House Strong, or our standing, I shall make it known of your dishonor towards me, which is now considered treason, in case you’ve forgotten. And if you try to touch me again, I will tell Aegon, and he will have you dragged by the hair to feed Sunfyre. He is my shield, and he shall defend me. Not you.”

Her trembling increased and Abby clutched her skirts, giving the knight nothing more than a sidelong glance as she darted around him, the dismissal she gave chafing at the manners and propriety that had been etched into her bones, even after what he had done, the words he had thrown at her.

She did not know where she was going, only that she needed to run from this. A sob tore from her throat and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth before spitting the lingering taste on the ground, as if it were enough to rid the memory.

The crescent of red beneath her fingernails made her skin crawl and she hiccuped a small, frightened sound as she burst into the Godswood.

Aegon was standing there beneath the great heart tree. He faced the carved, weeping face, his head tilted back, eyes closed as if in prayer.

She turned abruptly in hopes of avoiding him, avoiding his questions and his angry eyes, and her skirt caught between her legs and under her shoe, sending her to the ground where her hands scraped against the pavestones. She let out a pained cry before she could stop it, all hopes of being gone before he noticed her dashed as she was.

“Abby?”

“Please not now,” she whispered, wincing at the bloody scrapes on the heels of her palms. Her prayer was not powerful enough because Aegon was there beside her, his hands reaching out before he stopped himself. Aegon’s fingertips only just brushed her hand and he gazed at her. His silver hair fell into his eyes, lilac clear for once.

He had freckles over his nose and across his cheeks. She loved those freckles.

“Let me see,” he said softly. “Please?”

Abby couldn’t breathe. Her throat was choked up and she shut her eyes, hot tears rolling down her cheeks and with a nod, she held out her scraped palms to him for inspection. “I’m sorry,” she whispered instinctively.

“Why?” He asked just as softly. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his jerkin. He paused in the motion, brow furrowing as he realized that a dry handkerchief wouldn’t do much good. She shook her head and spat on the heels of her palms.

“There,” she sniffled. Aegon snorted and began dabbing the dirt off the scrapes.

“Clever girl.”

“I try.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Abby blinked through her tears. “What?”

“You said you were sorry. I was asking you why.” Aegon’s thumb stroked along the lifeline of her left palm in a soothing manner. There was a gentleness in him that eased the lonely fear she felt. “Unless you were apologizing for falling. Then perhaps your skirts should apologize to you.” His eyes widened, lips pressed together comically, and he shrugged.

Abby’s teeth scraped over her lower lip but it did little to disguise the twitch of her smile. “Mayhaps-” her words were cut off by the hiss of pain. It was fleeting and he shushed her softly.

“I’m sorry.” His thumb pressed gently into the center of her palm and his eyes hidden by the fall of his hair.

“Why?”

The corner of his mouth twitched and Aegon met her gaze. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Pink bloomed in the round of his cheeks and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. Abby released a long breath that she felt like she’d been holding for weeks. Mayhaps she had. Or perhaps it was only in the past minutes since she’d woken that morning. Since…

“I…” He breathed in her exhale and Abby was transported to the meadow in the Kingswood where everything in her begged to soothe him and tell him it was okay. Then, she held back. Here, she held back too. “I didn’t see you. I thought I did, but I wasn’t.”

Her eyes flooded with tears at his words. Aegon was not one to apologize, but since this betrothal, he had done so twice already. She knew he had meant them before, but little had changed. In the simplicity of the words that spilled from him now were different. Quiet. Vulnerable.

Truth.

Three times for a wish. Three times to make it real.

Aegon’s hand cupped her left cheek and his thumb brushed her tears away, but they were replaced with more. “I saw… Cole says every girl is the Maiden, every woman the Mother,” he whispered with his voice cracking. “My mother who has rejected me with more fervor while she clings to me for this mad future, and how she clings to her Seven as if it will make it better and yet none of them were what I needed. It was you. It was always you standing there when I had nowhere else to turn. You, who had always been there with open arms to accept me. How could I see you as anything but holy? How could I not see you as the Maiden come down to me, as if I was as worthy as Galladon of Morne for your affections. How could I not cling to you when my mother and her gods turned their backs to me. To face the idea that I was losing your acceptance when I didn’t know what I had done was too much. It was too much like everything else. Gone was the safe harbor in you, because I was so foolish as to not see the true you, only what my mother and Cole had told me you should be.” Tears shone in his lilac eyes and rolled down his cheeks as her own did. “I was blind to truths, no better than my father. I punished you for it. It’s unforgivable, to treat you so, when I’ve always wanted… I do not know.”

The prince was not prone to rambling. He was not one for a slew of words and speeches and declarations in this sort of way. While not as reticent as Aemond could be, to hear Aegon present this all to her was a surprise. He was breathless at the end of it with lilac eyes wide and focused on her and Abby’s heart clenched hard in her chest. The idea that this was something he’d tumbled over and over with himself and was looking for the opportunity to tell her took her by surprise and overcame the fear and the nerves that threatened to drown her.

Abby leaned into his touch, wet mouth dragging against the skin of his hand. Words were wind. Words did not matter coming from her right now. She knew that she had her own apologies to make, but the lack of rehearsal in Aegon's words, the way he compared himself to the man he hated most, tore at the gentle parts of her and robbed her of her own declarations, as if Aegon had borrowed them to give himself strength. Her tears came faster and Abby drew back when Aegon shifted.

"You do not ne-need to know, just hearing you…” Her breath hitched as she tried to find something to say that felt worthy, but he silenced her when he reached down to scoop her into his arms. Her lips parted and she tried to speak, but being held close like this, surrounded by the warmth of him instead of the cold ground, or being crowded against a cold stone wall by someone she did not truly want, had her falling silent. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck as he headed up the gentle incline and carefully sat them down among the twisting roots of the weirwood tree.

How often had the two of them sat here beneath the bone white boughs, sharing marchpane and honey cakes? How often she was talked into reading him tomes assigned by the maester for his studies?

He said nothing as they sat, only held her in his lap and pressed his warm lips to her forehead before tucking her head beneath his chin. Abby lifted a hand to fist into his black shirt sleeve and for the first time since the death of her family, she let herself lean into him for the warmth and reassurance that had been absent from her life for so long. The culmination of everything that had come before, everything happening now, threatened to drown her. She pressed her face further into his neck, her sobs soft against his skin, and his arms tightened around her.

Abby had seen Aegon at low and weak moments. He had wept in her lap and into her hair numerous times over the years.

Now Aegon had found her fallen, and like she had done so often for him, he lifted her up.

Aegon’s tears wet her hair and her own soaked into the collar of his shirt. Abby imagined herself sinking into him, slipping into all the gaps and spaces of his body and nestling in there where it was warm and quiet, where they could be alone together away from everything else.

“I’m sorry for what I said that night,” she whispered against his throat, her nose stuffed from her crying and voice thick and raw. “I expected something different from you, something I never asked for, and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and Aegon’s arms tightened around her, his fingers stroking her hair.

“You are rather terrible at asking for things,” he said in his own low voice. Abby let out an indelicate snort, sputtering at the gentle tease. She vividly recalled the last time he ordered her to tell him of her desires, and her cheeks flushed deeper than they already were. How she craved it, how she wanted more.

She shifted against him so her fingers could fidget with the buttons on his shirt, needing something to distract her hands with. “I suppose I need to practice then.” A swallow and a sigh. Aegon huffed a chuckle and his breath sent her hair fluttering. His hand was warm when it took hers and she felt him run his thumb against the back of her hand.

Then Aegon went still, and Abby swallowed. There was no resistance when he lifted her hand and there was no hiding the red crescents beneath her usually well kept nails, and the streaks of crimson on her fingertips he hadn’t seemed to notice before.

Fair enough. Aegon often missed the details.

“What’s this?” he asked in that low tone, the one that vibrated through his chest and into her very bones. “Abby?”

Cold swept through her veins and a terrible knot of anxiety twisted tight in her belly. Shame followed quickly after the cold, a red hot sensation that burned along her neck and stung at the corners of her eyes, painful in her cheeks. It was one thing for men to engage in such things. It was another for women, let alone someone betrothed to the prince of the realm. She could still feel the vicious smack of the queen’s palm against her face, the cold and remote look in the woman’s large eyes as they tore her apart.

She had been given a duty as Aegon’s betrothed, and it was to fix him. It wasn’t to love him. It wasn’t to be intimate and passionate with him. How ugly the thought was. How cruel it was to think they had betrothed them, while thinking that she could not love the wreck that was Aegon, that she cared for in spite of his faults and flaws. How could she do anything but love him?

Helaena had her share of stolen kisses. Many of the ladies of court had. Why should she be any different? Aegon certainly was no chaste, virtuous son. He would come to their marriage bed well practiced.

Abby’s mouth was dry and she swallowed harshly. Nerves were night moths fluttering wildly in her belly. “I…” Another clearing of her throat, and Abby lifted her gaze to meet his. “Ser Edmund tried to take more than what I had allowed. It seems chivalry was not part of his knight’s vows.”

Silence grew between them while Aegon studied her face and she felt bare before him. There was no hiding behind her hair even as she half tried to. There was no disguising the flush of her skin and the trembling of her mouth. She wanted to beg him not to be angry at her, that she didn’t intend to make the knight think he was owed more, but Abby kept her mouth shut. She had kissed him just as he kissed her and it had been her choice to do it.

Aegon studied her face with her hand clutched tight in his, thumb pressed into the center of her palm. She didn’t look away. She would not look away, no matter what kind of shame she felt. Defenses pushed at her throat. Little hedges like ‘I promise I didn’t encourage him’ were tempting, but she swallowed them down as she tried to swallow the shame she felt and the anger at how the man had behaved.

Slowly, Aegon shifted the arm that curled around her so he could lift his hand to cradle the back of her head, his fingers in her hair. The touch sent a shiver down her spine and chased away the heated curl of shame with the intimacy of it. His thumb stroked against her palm and he gave a slow nod.

“I suppose with how I’ve treated you, it’s the least you could have done for yourself, hunītsos.” The use of the endearment took her by surprise, and she met his gaze, the pupils blown wide with a simmering anger. “But if this is from protecting yourself, I’ll bring you his hands should you wish.”

Her laugh was short and shocked, tearful as it was relieved and she curled her fingers around his. “I do not need his hands. He walked away wounded in both body and pride after I told him that you would have him drug by the hair to feed to Sunfyre. Though I would hate for our poor boy to be fed such a meal.”

Aegon stared at her in ill disguised surprise at what she said. She couldn’t tell what was going on through his mind. Was he upset with her? Did he think she asked for it? That she had led him on how he had accused her of?

“You, my fierce Abrogail,” he finally said, hand still cradling her head and his other came up to trace a knuckle along the softness of her cheek, “were brilliant. You hide your claws and fangs so well, but they are sharp to be sure.” Aegon’s cheeks were lightly flushed, lilac eyes dancing with a tumult of emotions she could not untangle. But she knew his anger lay not with her. “Our poor boy?”

Abby scrunched her face up shyly. “Sunfyre likes me and I like him. You have to share him.”

“I have to?”

“You must.”

Aegon rolled his eyes and nudged his nose against hers. “I mean it truly. I do not enjoy the idea of someone else kissing you, but it pales to the treatment after. I would not have you hurt and afraid. I know how men can be.” He faltered then but Abby could fill in the details. She understood that Aegon had been that sort of man. ‘Was he still that sort of man?’ she wondered.

“Were you aware he’d gotten a child on one of my maids barely a moon ago? He did. I gave the girl moon tea and money for her to go back home to her family and find a new position, since she was clearly incapable of refuting my son’s advances. Very much like you seem incapable of refuting him.”

Her voice was a quiet breath and she pressed against his chest. “Would… if you kissed me and I didn’t want it, or if you touched me and I didn’t want it, even if maybe I seemed like I did, o-or I had changed my mind. Even when you’re my husband and you have your rights. I know you have your rights and my duty and-”

“I would stop,” he cut in. Aegon’s voice was firm, and she knew that he meant it. “I never want to look at you and see fear in your eyes. Fear that I put there. I will take anger, I will take pity and sadness, but I could not...” His voice had started strong, but as he went along, it wavered, thick with emotion until he fell quiet with a shake of his head. “When you looked at me that night of the feast, the words that you said-”

“I should not have-”

“Stop,” he commanded, not harshly, but firm. “I need to say this. When you said those things, the idea of you seeing me as something sick and broken, I could not abide it. I could not breathe. If you saw me as a monster, as something not worth your touch, then there was nothing else for me.” Aegon tilted back, putting space between them, his head thumping gently against the tree, and he turned his gaze to the gentle whisper of the blood red leaves above them. “I was harsh with you in my pain. You caused me hurt and I wanted to throw it back tenfold. Why should I try, if I upset you so? If you no longer leaned into my touch, for the little time I had it? I… fuck.”

Aegon would not look at her, and Abby felt a knot of worry in her chest, the cold and hot feeling twisting through her. His hands had fallen away from her as Aegon drew in on himself, but she did not pull away from him, did not reject him, and he did not shove her away. “We didn’t make promises,” she whispered.

“We did. You asked me to only ever touch you that way.” He pulled his fingers through his hair, tugging on the silver strands as he took a deep breath. “I… took the Lefford girl into my bed.”

Marla Lefford, Lord Loras Lefford’s younger sister who had arrived with the Riverlands party. A pretty maid around her age, with pin straight brown hair and bright green eyes. She’d been nice, if a little flighty, when they had met.

Abby felt a rush of jealousy but swallowed it down, letting it burn all the way to her gut, a new sort of pain. A nod. “Were you kind to her?”

He might have snorted a sad sort of laugh, but there was no effort in it. Honesty was the order of the day and he shrugged. “I wasn’t unkind. I wasn’t the first one there, but I think she expected more. More care, perhaps. More enthusiasm, certainly.” He swallowed audibly and looked up at her. “I’ve been… engaging with Cassandra Baratheon. I didn’t take her to bed. I wouldn’t.”

The memory of Cassandra Baratheon speaking of stolen moments in alcoves and behind tapestries came in stark clarity and she felt a coil of heat and sick. She’d listened to her and never realized that it was Aegon she’d been referencing.

“Why not?” She didn’t want to know, but the words escaped her before she could lock them away. The jealousy burned hotter as she thought of Cassandra Baratheon and her womanly secrets, her sharp laugh and the tossing of her hair. How beautiful and worldly she was. How stormy and clever she was. How so obviously not Abby.

She was the better match for Aegon in the long run. Cassandra Baratheon was the heir to the Stormlands as it stood right now.

But Cassandra Baratheon did not grow up at Alicent Hightower’s knee. Cassandra Baratheon would not be a tool sought to control Aegon by his mother through her. Perhaps that was what made him want her. Abby thought she would choke on the notion.

“If I took her to bed, I knew she’d hurt you with it,” he said softly. “For whatever that is worth, I didn’t want to hurt you in that way. Whatever was happening was between us, I would not put you in her sights with my foolish choices.”

“She’s coming to Harrenhal with us,” Abby said in the same quiet voice.

Aegon clucked his tongue, a helpless look. “I have been known to, as you say, not think things through.” He looked at her then, helpless and nervous, tentative and hopeful. Brave, in the way he so rarely exhibited. “We do not have to bring her to Harrenhal. If you do not want her there, then she won’t be there.”

Her eyes rounded in surprise at the decision placed in her hands. She held it, unsure of what to do. Courtesy, propriety, the swallowing of unpleasant emotions, all of it compelled her to answer that she would put the matter behind her and allow Cassandra to come with them, so as not to offend the fickle Lord Borros. It would be the right thing to do. The forgiving thing to do.

The Seven preached such forgiveness.

Septa Lyserra taught those virtues, yet the woman had pulled her from Aegon’s arms, torn the ring forcefully from hair where it had gotten caught, sought to punish and inflict pain for something that Abby did not find wrong, did not think she had anything to be sorry for. That was not kindness. That wasn’t gentleness, or understanding. It was cruel.

Should she tell Aegon what had happened in his mother’s room? To explain? No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t come between Aegon and his mother.

But how she ached to say something. How she wanted to tell Aegon the pain that had been caused, and to be defended, to be comforted and protected. How she wanted to use her voice to speak of the hurt that she’d been caused.

“I do not want Cassandra Baratheon at Harrenhal,” she said in a quiet but firm voice. Her eyes were wet and she still trembled from the emotions tumbling through her. “I do not begrudge you what you engaged in with her, and I’m glad you told me. But I do not want her there. I do not want her in our home, where we’re to make our life together. I do not care what it says of me, of what gossip would spread; if they call me insecure, if they call me jealous. I do not want her there.” Her breath hitched and she reached up to drag the edge of her red sleeve across her wet eyes. “You’re a prince. You’re charming and beautiful, and you ride the most beautiful dragon in the world. I want to be yours, Aegon. I’ve only ever wanted to be yours and… and I-I want you to be mine. I want you to want me as much as I want you. I do not care about the Lefford girl, or Cassandra Baratheon, whatever brothel visits, or what else came before. I am selfish enough to admit I want you to myself now. I want our marriage, our marriage bed, to be only for us.”

Aegon looked at her like he’d never properly done so and Abby’s hands fluttered up to cover the flush of her cheeks, tilting her head to hide behind the fall of her messy curls. For the first time the two of them sat there with their hearts held out to one another, without dressing or armor. They were naked, their ribs cracked open, and she was begging to crawl inside the cage of him, to wrap herself around his heart and be surrounded by him, bone and flesh knit together to hold her close and keep her safe and warm.

“Hunītsos,” he murmured, and he wrapped his hands around her wrists to tug them from her face. She resisted and he snorted, tugging more until he had her wrists held. “Abby, look at me.”

Her resistance gave way and he held both her wrists in a single hand so he could cup her left cheek in the rough warmth of his palm, his fingers stroking where they tucked into her hair. Aegon was smiling softly. It was a ghost of one, barely there, and he simply watched her, searching for answers to questions she did not know.

Then his smile widened and he nodded and Abby thought she finally knew what question he had been asking all this time.

It was not conscious to fall forward into his touch. He pulled her in and the feel of his mouth was, before everything, right. The taste of spiced wine and something inherently Aegon. There was no sense of wrongness or unsettling discomfort. Kissing Aegon felt like coming home. It felt like being wrapped in a blanket warmed by the fire on a cold night. Gently, he used the grip on her wrists to tug her closer and when he released her, she twined her arms around his neck and his freed hand looped around her waist to cradle her close. The kiss did not deepen. It was nearly chaste. It was a dream. It was everything she missed over these past weeks.

The groan that Aegon released when they parted shot straight through her, and it took everything in her not to whine for more. She wanted to chase his pouty mouth and dive into the pool of heat that had gathered between them. Instead, he nuzzled his nose against hers before resting his forehead to hers.

“I want to be better for you. I want to be who you see me as. I want to be worthy of you, but I do not know how. I do not know if I’m good enough.” Abby’s fingers lifted to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck and breathed in his exhales. “I am afraid” went unsaid but she could hear it woven amidst his words. The desire to comfort him was there, threatening to overwhelm her, to push aside her own pain, to reassure him without doubt that it was fine.

“Who do you want to be, mo realta geal?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

She pressed a kiss to his lower lip. Soft and sweet, a gentle reassurance. Aegon exhaled and she could feel his shiver match her own. “I have always believed that you did not have to be what you were. To throw yourself into wine and women, to put down your swords; these are things I wish you had not done, but I understood why. When you said those words to me, when you lashed out in pain, I grew angry because I realized you were supposed to be different when it came to me. I also was not seeing you fully. But I see you now, and I still want you. I choose you and whomever you choose to become. Do not do it for my approval. Do it because it is what you want most. You do not have to be anyone else but Aegon, and whatever that means to you.”

Aegon’s nod was minute, the gesture reminding her of the little boy he’d once been, shy and nervous. “Do you mean it?” He whispered, and she would not have heard him had they not been so close. His voice was thick and his eyes shined with tears.

“I do,” she whispered.

He sniffled and nodded again. “You do not need to be my mother. You do not need to be one of those perfect ladies. You are fierce and passionate and you are so beautiful when you are free. You are not the Maiden or Mother or whatever the seven hells demand. You are Abrogail Strong and I’ve wanted you for as long as I have had memory.”

“I don’t know if I know how to be anything else, Aegon.” Her voice was so small she could barely hear herself.

“Neither do I, Abrogail,” he said with his own soft kiss to her trembling mouth. Abby whimpered and his chuckle was soft and deep, snaking through her with a heat that made her hands shake. “We’ll be fools together, won’t we? Stumbling in the dark to figure it out.”

A shaky laugh sounded and she shook her head with a shy and tremulous smile. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“That you are. Never fear, I shan’t let go of your hand.”

“Good, because I will not let go of yours either.” Abby felt her cheeks flush and watched his own do the same. It had been so long since she heard him sing or pluck the strings of his gittern or lyre. “I would like to hear you sing me songs again.” He had done so when they were young, but Aegon’s interests had fallen to the side as they’d grown, the same as her own interests in painting and archery had done. Could they, perhaps now, reclaim them?

He exhaled, blowing moonlit hair out of his eyes. “Well, then it’s settled. Might as well chain us together.”

“Is that not what marriage is supposed to be?” She asked with a teasing grin and a pinch to his side. Aegon squealed with a high pitched sound and her grin broadened. “Ticklish, my prince?”

She found another spot along his ribs and he squirmed with another flurry of strangled giggles as she tickled him. His hands found her and the soft, tender bits beneath her arms and her shrieks of laughter joined him as they fell sideways in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

[chapter fourteen]

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

Thanks for the tags @lemonlyman-dotcom @redshirt2and @saraminia!

1. Are you named after anyone?

My maternal grandmother. It was my dad's idea to name me Anne after her. I think he was sucking up to his mother-in-law.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I don't full out cry all that much. I'll tear up a little watching and reading stuff all the time. The last time I remember fully sobbing was in March 2022 when my 15 year old cocker spaniel, Jasmine, died. More recently, I probably cried a little out of frustration in an argument with my mom a few months ago.

3. Do you have kids?

No

4. What sports do you play/have played?

I'm not at all a sports person. The only official school sports team I was ever on was cross country for a single year in 7th grade. I hated it. I ended up with the worst record on the entire team. It was a middle school team, which was 7th and 8th grade only. One of the 8th graders was a slow runner and before one of our meets, a couple of the other 8th grade girls pulled me aside and told me it was my turn to run with her. If she had to stop running and walk, that meant that I had to stop running and walk with her. Looking back, this was complete bullshit and I should have just said no, but at the time I was afraid to not do what they said. We ended up walking a good portion of the run, and then right before the finish line, she put on a burst of speed and beat me. I was annoyed.

Also, I was on a tee-ball team as a little kid. I hated it, but my dad was the coach so I HAD to go. I have a vivid memory of running to first base, putting my foot on the base, then having the little boy playing first base put his foot ON TOP of my foot, and wrongfully getting called out. I was LIVID. I didn't even want to be there in the first place!

I also took tennis lessons for a few sessions as a younger kid because my best friend liked it. I did not like it.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

At times.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

I'm kind of a terrible noticer in social situations. I think it's my social anxiety. Especially when I meet new people, I'm very much in my own head about the whole interaction. I really have no idea what I notice.

7. What’s your eye color?

Hazel

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I enjoy watching scary movies that are so stupid they're hilarious. It's something my mom and I love to do together: go see stupid scary movies. But if I had to choose just one, I'd say happy endings.

9. Any talents?

I think I'm good at cross stitching. I'm also a pretty good baker, particularly when it comes to cookies.

10. Where were you born?

In the same town I currently live.

11. What are your hobbies?

Cross stitch (obviously), reading, running, baking, does watching TV count as a hobby?

12. Do you have any pets?

Ruby!

13. How tall are you?

5'2''

14. Favorite subject in school?

English, particularly literature. In my final year of high school, I had space for several electives, and I filled the space by taking every single literature class the school offered. I think I took British Literature, World Literature, Contemporary Literature and African American Literature that year. It was amazing. I got to spend half the school day reading books.

15. Dream job?

I don't think I really have a dream job. Definitely not my current job. Maybe something low stress and high pay where I didn't have to interact with too many people? Or what about just not having a job? I think not having a job but still having money is my dream job.

Tagging @autistic-lesbian-story-lover @maxbegone @ladytessa74 @carlos-in-glasses @bubblesandroses8 @louis-ii-reyes-strand @reyestrandd @rachelsversion1 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @strandnreyes @inkweedandlizards @alltheprettyplaces @firstprince-history-huh @birdclowns @bonheur-cafe

[backjustforberena]

hey your little subheading blurb thing on your blog says Bernie Wolfe is self-sacrificing and Serena Campbell is self-destructive and i’m really curious about that because i thought that given their, well, everything, it would be the other way around. serena giving up pretty much every part of herself for those around her. i think it might of been you or bonnissance that said that she’d light herself on fire to keep those around her warm. and bernie’s tendency to avoid conflict and do her best to either gloss over things until she really really can’t, or commit to a stance and let it drive her, and anything else it takes, into the ground, overwhelmingly to her own detriment. so your perspective has surprised me for a while. could you explain? absolutely no stress if not. no rush or pressure, just if you have time and interest i’d love to hear your thought process. if you’ve already spoken about this and don’t really want to rehash it, is there anyway for me to find that? might be a long shot, but maybe some tag you used that i can search your blog for? anyway. would love to know your thoughts!

Hello! Sorry it's taken me a while to get to this. It's been a busy time and it's been a while since I got to go on a merry old meta rant for Berena, who I still love with all my heart. I'm happy to go through my reasoning. I don't think I've ever said anything massively specific to your question, though all my meta is tagged with "berena" as are my gifs. There's also the "bad meta" tag, though that's recently had some Corlys and Rhaenys put in there again.

So my little bio thing of "Bernie Wolfe is self-sacrificing and Serena Campbell is self-destructive" is generally in reference to their break-up. It fits in other contexts but it's instinctively towards the break-up they have at Jason's wedding and all the events surrounding it. You're right to point out that they both have displayed each trait but if you stay with me, I'll do into a little bit of why I chose each for each.

Any questions, do follow up!!

BERNIE WOLFE IS SELF-SACRIFICING.

Bernie, over the course of her time on Holby, sacrifices a lot. Even before we get to really know her, she gives up her job at the Army in order to give her family a shot. In the aftermath of the kiss, when she talks to Serena, she's sacrificing whatever feelings she might have so that Serena is comfortable. When she goes to Ukraine, in her head, it's because if she moves too fast then she'll lose Serena. It's what she feels she should do.

When Serena loses Elinor, the support is given and I think there's enough to infer that she's pulling more work off of Serena, hence her business. She's steady in holding Serena's hand and talking to Jason and Jasmine. She pushes aside her own feelings; getting rid of the space she might need to feel in order to get the job done.

For me, sacrifice is done quietly and Bernie is constantly quiet. She will have these wars but she will have them within herself. When she "sacrifices" then it's usually wrapped up in notions of duty and honour and the soldier mindset that I think is pretty core to her character.

There is evidence that Bernie avoids conflict. But when she does, to my best recollection, it's by way of surrender. Bernie surrenders. Even when it's not what she'd really want. And she keeps her dignity. Does that make sense? Like when she was all gung-ho about the trauma unit closing but by the time it came down to it, she recognised the implications and left quietly. She had the fire, but it would have been fruitless and it would have been to the detriment of the team she had built. She'd get rid of herself for her team.

So, when we look at the break-up specifically, Bernie sacrifices her dream job, then her relationship, and to a larger extent, her own happiness, in order to give Serena a chance. She doesn't fight it. She doesn't want to. She accepts it without fuss. And she slips out of the back door. To me, that's more sacrificial than it is destructive. She's the passive participant.

Serena sacrifices. But, if you look at the fire metaphor you gave, the problem is with fire is that if you set yourself on fire... there's no guarantee you're not going to burn others in the blaze.

SERENA CAMPBELL IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE.

Serena gives every part of herself and she does so aggressively. I think that's the main difference! Serena is aggressive in her care for her Mum and so focused and clenched and unwilling to admit she is wrong or needs help. It means she gets physically abused, literally destroying herself because she won't open up to her friends or staff or get in carers. She alienates people because of it.

She self-sabotages when it comes to romantic relationships. She lashes out and nearly destroys her career and relationships after Elinor dies. She twists herself up and becomes so dark. To me, that's destructive rather than sacrificial.

When looking at the break-up... the break up did not need to happen. They'd been close before and they'd pulled it back from the brink. The cheating was out in the open and Bernie had decided they were going to make it work and that it could be fixed, and Serena wants to believe it. But she can't, because of her actions.

Serena goes into Albie's thinking she's doomed the relationship or will always doom the relationship. None of this is brought up by Bernie. Bernie thinks they can move past the cheating. So, because Serena is so guilty about it... she lights a match. She convinces herself and she instigates that break-up. She's the active participant.

When Bernie "dies" and Serena thinks she's lost her forever, the whole blame is put on her. She knows she could have stopped Bernie. She didn't sacrifice her own happiness as she did destroy her chance for it.

That's why I say all that. Bernie is passive, quiet and the one to leave. Serena is active, forceful, and the one left. One sacrifices, one destroys.

Does that make sense?

[paulinawoodpecker]

Revenge party ( all the characters will sing this)

(It’s about the triple team and the impossible threes revenge on Tiffany)

@jakkiisthatboy2

Chai: *spoken* tad. Don’t be sorry. Now you finally realized what it’s like to hurt people’s feelings.

Reena: *spoken* we are your friends.

Reena: *spoken* and we’re gonna make her pay.

Reena: You know what friends do?They got your back. And they are fun to be around.

Jessie: woah woah woah.

Minnie: When someone hurts you.Then they attack. And grind your foe into the ground

Jessie: woah woah woah

Chai: Imagine a party. With dresses and cake. And singing and dancing and cake. And there's a magic act. That saws Tiffany in half. And this time it will take

Jessie: Now that's a party

Ramirez: It's a revenge party. A party that ends. With somebody's head on a spike.

Victoria: woah woah woah.

Ramírez and victoria: It's a revenge party. With your two best friends. It's like a party with revenge is what it's like

Chai: *spoken* tad, in order for this to work, you need to act like a huge phony. Can you do it?

Tad: *spoken* I think so.

Chai: *spoken* practice!

Blair: *spoken* Tiffany wanted me to tell you that she tried to talk to max, but he just wanted her back, and that’s not her fault

Pickles: *spoken* Of course! 😏

Jack: *spoken* perfect!

Reena: *spoken* on to phase two!

Nagham: I'll bring the glow sticks.

Flora: I'll bring the 'loons, and we'll have chocolate ice cream cones.

Snowy: woah woah woah

Kelsey: I'll be the DJ spinning the tunes on a turntable made of her bones.

Sara: We'll get a piñata 'cause that would be fun. And play dress up and Barbies and tag

Tiffany maze: And we'll roll on the grass and stare up at the sun. And we'll stuff her remains in a bag

Ramona: And throw 'em in the river.

Reena: It's a revenge party! A party that ends!

Jasmine: With entrails all over the lawn

Reena, Jasmine and Lukas: A revenge party with your two best friends!

Tad: And I end up with mummy when she's gone

Reena: yes! Ding dong!

Tad: *spoken* And I end up with mummy when she's gone

Reena: *spoken* yes ding dong.

Andrea: *spoken* um. I think I need a tutor.

Max: *spoken* I can tutor you if you want.

All: What's Tiffany doing?. What's Tiffany wearing?Is she back again? Tiffany, Tiffany. She has everything. She gets everything. Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany.

Tiffany: *spoken* what is that?

Pickles: *spoken* Uh, I'm so fat and disgusting, I'm not having anything but Kälteen Bars until I lose weight.

Tiffany: *spoken* Uh, I need to lose three pounds. How many calories is that?

Pickles: *spoken* Zero, you cross multiply x over a thousand and divide by point five ’cause it’s a—

Tiffany: *spoken* Whatever, bring me a whole box. No, bring me two.

Pickles: 😈😏

The impossible three: A revenge party. A party that ends. With somebody crushed and alone

Jack: And ugly crying!

Max and Jack: A revenge party with your two best friends. It's like a party with revenge is what we're throwing

All: What's Tiffany eating? God, look at her figure. Did she get a little bigger? Tiffany, Tiffany. She has everything. She gets everything. Tiffany, Tiffany, Tiffany.

Kevin: *spoken* Six weeks and all we’ve done is make Tiffany hotter and revive the wet look.

Flora: *spoken* We have to work harder. New strategy, what if we make Kenny think Tiffany is mad at him?

Snowy: *spoken* No, no, Kenny is fragile.

Kelsey: *spoken* Exactly, and if we crack him open, he’ll spill something we can use.

Jessie: *spoken* Hey, girl, you sending any caramels this year?

Tiffany: *spoken* I don't send them, I just get them. Um, stop pulling it down, your hair looks pushed back. Jessie, would you please tell him his hair looks pushed back?

Jessie: *spoken*your hair looks pushed back.

Roger: *spoken* uh thanks…

Christopher:*spoken* we’ll see you later.

Ramirez: At every party, there might be a low. Where the energy dips

Victoria: woah woah woah.

Victoria: You might be thinking it's late, we should go. And they ran out of chips

Tad: NO!

Tad: I can't even watch when she touches his hair. And I've watched a snake eat a cow. Tiffany needs to be toppled. Sorry, max, I swear. We'll get our party now.

Tad: *spoken* One caramel, please

Tad: 😏

The triple team: A revenge party. A party that ends. With lions in a Roman arena

The impossible three: She has everything. She gets everything. Tiffany, Tiffany Tiffany!

Christopher:*spoken* oh oh! Caramel-gram for Nickolas Orlean.

All: She has everything

Christopher: *spoken* and one for Kelsey swells

All: She gets everything

Jessie: *spoken* Four for Glen Coco, you go Glenn Cocoo.

All: *spoken*Glenn Cocoo, Glenn Cocoo, Glenn Cocoo

Jessie: *spoken* and none for Tiffany mordon, bye.

Tiffany: *spoken* wait who sent that?

Ying: *spoken*aw. It’s from-

All: Mr p. Mr P. Mr. P

Ying: *spoken* Thanks for being a such a great best friend.

Tiffany: *spoken* Oh, okay. If you and the vegetable are friends now, then you can be in charge of keeping all her secrets?

Tiffany:*spoken* Okay. For example, he gave you those notebooks just to make fun of you because he knew you wouldn't be able to write in them, sorry.

Tiffany: *spoken* Also, he says he has a nose job, but that's to distract from the fact that he had one of his ears moved.

Tiffany:*spoken* Also, she totally cheats and lies to mummy. Yeah, every Thursday she says she has college prep, but really, she's hooking up with Nickolas Orlean in the third floor janitorial closet on the bags of sawdust that they use for barf.

Tiffany: *spoken* And I never told anyone because I am such a good friend.

Ying: *spoken* And I am only telling you because I am such a good friend

Jack: 😈😏

Ramirez: It's a revenge party. A party that ends with somebody's head on a spike

Ramirez and Victoria: A revenge party. With your two best friends. It’s like a party of revenge is what it’s like.

Ramirez and the other ladies: It's like a party with revenge is what it’s like

Reena: a party with revenge!

All males: revenge

All females: revenge!

All: is what it's like!!!

[disneyfemslashcomics]

Hi!! I'm sure you've been asked this before so feel free to ignore this but what are your favorite Disney femslash ships? I have a lot that I like, but some of my own faves are Esmeralda/Jasmine, Aurora/Snow White, Merida/Mulan, Elsa/Isabela, and Ariel/Moana!! (Also, thank you for your post about blocking people who post AI art in the tags lol. I will not say who but someone I followed for a long time whose blog I loved started suddenly posting about AI stuff and I had to unfollow. It was crazy to me because they themself were an artist who didn't seem to realize or mind that AI art steals from artists like them.)

Oh my but this is one of my favorite questions and the answers do change over time.

Right now my favorite ships are (in no particular order)

Alice/ Wendy Darling (particularly my interpretation of them as adults)

Snow White/Jasmine (honestly OTP of all time material, ask me about them and I'll tell you)

Tiana/Cinderella

Snow White /Luisa - they're so cute

Esmeralda/Isabela

As for AI, I do have some room for nuance in it. There are tools that look at patterns in images and try to complete the pattern that I think would be incredibly useful and are notably not theft as they're largely pulling from an image that you're choosing to feed into it, and things like clip studio paint's auto colorize specifically when taking partially colored images, where I could see it being exceptionally useful to comic artists if you could control the inputs to only be your own art. My understanding of things like this is that they're also less of an energy drain and more sustainable, which is not a small issue when you're talking about full scale generative ai.

Where AI is right now isn't ethical. I want to make myself clear too that my biggest issue with AI is the destruction of the community aspects of fandom, because it's true that it steals and uses a lot of energy but the same can technically be said of AMVs and I'm pretty sure that we all like those here. I'm not inherently opposed to image manipulation and mash-ups, even of my own work, but I do want for people to be able to find my art and be able to talk to me and ask me to draw things if they want.

People who are generating images in private don't have to talk to anyone in order to get more of the same type of image, and while it's still definitely possible to share things around and make friends through mutual appreciation of the same thing and sharing that thing, it's not really the same experience as talking to people and building things together.

I want for people to make friends and talk to people, especially queer folks who are more likely to be isolated. And I want for artists to be included in the communities that they're making works for.

[clubsheartsspades]

So @alukardtheabysswalker tagged me in the "get to know your friends a bit better tag game", thank you! Sorry this is a bit late!

Three Ships: Roadrage is one of my favourite ships currently and it gets the first place because I'm deep into rain world ^^'

Pinescone is one I kind of always come back to, it's just always cute <3

JonGerry because I have written a lot of JonMartin but I was kind of thinking I should write more about Gerry (and Jon) that might be a fun dynamic

Last Film: I think it was Across the Spiderverse, pretty sure actually.

Currently Watching: Shadow and Bone S2, yeah I know it got cancelled, but I'm not done with it yet, I watch it with my mom and we live in different states, so that's sometimes a bit difficult lol

Currently Reading: Still the Starless Sea, I forgot my book at my parents' place, so I'll be on that for a little longer

Currently Craving: Some matcha, as I always do, also some of that good jasmine plum tea I had in New York that was unfortunately the best thing to ever happen to me and I miss it

I'm tagging.... @colorfullyminded and @jade-island-lives and @soul-write and also @1face2souls-blog because I think you guys will have fun with this

[healbellls]

Shipping Info for Multimuses!

Answer the following for your muse so people know how shipping works on your blog.

Repost DO NOT reblog!

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER?:

In no particular order:

Eusine/Morty Drayden/Drake Dawn/Barry Rose/Juan

WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO WRITE WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING?:

// I think it's easier to ask what I won't do for shipping.

My straight up "no's" are incest and any adult/minor ships, this isn't up for discussion.

On the subject of aging up characters: it depends on the muse and who's the mun behind it. Unfortunately, I've seen way too much discourse about it in the pokerpc which has left me feeling iffy about it, even if 9/10 times it is harmless (and I'm cool with it in other fandoms I'm in). It's just in the Pokerpc that I'm wary of it. I get it is a touchy subject to some ppl, especially to those who love jumping the gun and completely ignore what ppl are actually writing. But literally??? Everyone writes a form of post-series events verses/plot, and guess what? In my book, that counts as aging up a character, ppl just do it naturally. I've explained my stance on it, in my muses about docs. So, I'll keep it brief here. Just ask me if I'm cool with it or not, if something isn't clear.

Which leaves for last, any NOTPs (Falkner/Morty) I may have around.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?:

// I have no problem at all with age gaps between adult muses, in fact I quite like it, it is one of my favorite ship tropes! Things however get muddier, if we are talking about like teens-soon to turn adults (like those 17 y/o paired up with a 19 years old). While I don't see too much of a problem there, I'd rather keep this as something that's only really mentioned for HC/character development reasons.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?:

// Yes. Because I'm looking for chemistry between our muses, and we should bounce well as writing partners as well. I want our muses interactions to feel natural, and not like we are having to alter everything on them just to force a thread. With that said, I've mellowed out a lot, and it shouldn't take too much to convince me to ship with someone.

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NS/FW?:

// Anything in the slightest suggestive, quickly gets tagged and put under read more around here. For smut interactions/threads, I have a full on blog dedicated just to that. With that said, I’ve been preferring to write NSFW on my Discord. I feel like it’s easier to write there in many aspects.

WHO ARE OTHER THE CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?:

// Lance/Morty, Riley/Morty, Brawly/Morty, Wallace/Morty, Ingo/Morty, Sabrina/Morty, Jasmine/Morty, Whitney/Morty, Drake/Drasna, Drake/Joseph Stone, Rowan/Oak, Juan/Wallace, Brendan/May.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?:

// Yes, obviously. I don’t do instant shipping, even for those I'm already pretty biased to, I really need that plotting and interactions/threads to go alongside it.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU LIKE TO SHIP?:

// Depends on the muse you’re asking. Overall, I’d say I’m always down for discussing a new ship. Although, there are a handful of muses, that I just can’t feel a ship for rn (see: Brendan, Matsuba and Rowan).

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?:

// I try not to obsesses b U T, it happens sometimes. I won’t stand here and pretend like that wouldn’t happen.

ARE YOU MULTISHIP?:

// Yes! All my muses here are multiship!

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?:

// I'll forever have a soft spot for Dawn/Barry and Eusine/Morty <3

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?:

// We sit & talk & write... Then hope for the best! No, seriously just HMU for shipping! I love plotting stuff!

[rolandtowen]

Prince Zuko was a harsh, entitled boy.

Firelord Zuko is a ruler who makes amends. - a study in the various side characters that Zuko came across in his banishment, and how he repays his past actions.

Read Chapter One on ao3 or under the cut! TW for referenced non-con and colonialism

[I believe @flamehotman and @flameomcfirey wanted to be tagged?]

Chapter One: Song

We will get there when we get there, don't you worry Feel bad about the things we do along the way But not really that bad We inhaled the frozen air Lord, send me a mechanic if I'm not beyond repair

- The Mountain Goats

It happened on a Tuesday afternoon.

Zuko was meeting with the agricultural council, a collection of both scholars and farmers, to discuss best practices for renewing the Fire Nations agricultural trade. For so many decades, the Fire Nation out-sourced its agriculture to land in the colonies and imported much of its food. But with the land being given back, the Fire Nation was either going to have to begin growing its own food again, or import their food at a fair price. The economic committee decided on Monday that reviving the Fire Nation farms would be far more cost effective - and of course, would create more jobs in the Fire Nation. With the war over, the number of soldiers that the military required had dropped dramatically, and there were many citizens without work. Zuko had instated severance benefits for unemployed soldiers - the ones not found guilty of war crimes of course, mostly the young recruits - but it couldn't last forever.

It was maddening. Every time Zuko unraveled one problem, he undoubtedly found or created another one. He was trying, really trying, to keep his people safe. But he also had a duty to the rest of the world. The nations that his lineage colonized, pillaged, and destroyed. He resists the urge to write to Aang, to ask him how he does it, how he balances all of the nations in every action he takes. But Aang is busy, all of his friends are, spread thin to the four corners of the world.

Uncle visits him occasionally, when the letters from staff concerned about Zuko's health pile up on his desk. One too many servants have found him, asleep at his desk, face down in treaty papers. But Uncle has his hands full. He already splits his time enough between the Jasmine Dragon and Ember Island, looking after Azula.

Azula.

She was improving, and that's really all Zuko can ask for. He sees her a couple of times a month, pours her a cup of tea, and they sit on the balcony of their vacation-house-turned-mental-retreat. Most of the time, they don't talk. Zuko won't push her; he remembers his silence in his first few months of being banished, how Uncle had to coax him to say anything at meals. Sometimes the only words he uttered in a day were in prayer before meditation. Zuko had thought to himself, speaking out got me into this mess: I'll never speak again.

He's not sure what words were exchanged between Azula and Ozai before he left her and went to burn down the Earth Kingdom, but he can guess it wasn't good. Few of his father's words were.

So they sit and drink their tea. Sometimes, on a good day, Zuko will fix up Azula's hair for her, and she'll reveal some bits of information that he files away for future examination. Something like, I saw Mom before you came with Master Katara. Or she'll double check her reality, asking, you let Ty Lee and Mai out of jail, right? and Zuko will say yes, her friends are safe, they should be visiting any day now.

As painful as seeing her may be, spending time with Azula is far preferable to sitting through an agricultural council meeting.

He looks down at the paper in front of him, a comprehensive budget list for all of the supplies needed to revitalize the Fire Nation's agricultural sphere. Dozens of machines that he's sure Sokka had a hand in inventing, hundreds of varieties of seeds that Omashu is generously selling to them, and -

Thousands of ostrich-horses.

"Councilor Yichen, can you elaborate on the number of animals in this budget? Certainly with the machines we'll provide, farmers will not need so many working livestock."

Councilor Yichen stands, giving a little bow in Zuko's direction. "Of course, Lord Zuko. While the machines will certainly boost productivity, we only have enough for one per farming village at this point. Each family needs at least one working animal, if not to plow the fields, then to transport goods. We decided on ostrich-horses on a recommendation from farmers in the Earth Kingdom colonies, who found them to be invaluable. An ostrich-horse is, in many ways, more valuable than a machine."

Zuko's stomach settles uncomfortably, but he isn't entirely sure why. "Thank you, Councilor. I understand now."

Yichen gives another little bow before he sits, and the rest of the meeting goes as planned, with the exception of a strange seed of unknown guilt now growing in Zuko's stomach.

"Uncle, do you remember when you made tea out of that poisonous plant?"

Uncle laughs, hands faltering as he pours Zuko a cup of jasmine tea. "I remember, Nephew. How could I ever forget?"

"Do you remember the girl who helped you?"

Uncle takes a sip of the warm tea. "Song. Her mother made the best roast duck." He looks at Zuko out of the corner of his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Zuko looks out over the gardens. He's able to see the whole palace grounds from where they're seated on the second-floor balcony, watching the sun rise. As far as the eye can see, Zuko is upheld as a flawless ruler, his word taken as law. He's sick of it.

"I stole her ostrich-horse," he murmurs into his tea, taking a sip to calm his nerves. "I just remembered, in that agricultural meeting a few days ago. I - I never knew how essential those were to farmers, I just thought I was taking their ride." He turns to fully face his Uncle. "But I think I took a lot more than that."

Uncle meets his eyes with understanding. "And now you want to give it back."

"I know there's no way for me to fully apologize for how I acted in exile, but it feels like I have to try." The cup quivers a bit in his hands, and so his hands drop to his lap. "I'll need someone to watching over the Nation while I'm gone."

Uncle places one of his warm hands over Zuko's shaking ones. "I'm sure I can deal with your advisors for a few days." He squeezes his hand just slightly around Zuko's. "I'm proud to see that even in a few short months, your wisdom as a ruler is growing. Go, make your amends. The Nation will be here when you return." Uncle calls for Zuko's secretary and tells her to clear as much of the Firelord's schedule as she can for the next week. Their voices fade into the background as Zuko stares into his tea, wracking his brain to try and figure out how to track down just one girl in the entire Earth Kingdom. Sending scouts or soldiers from town to town is a recipe for disaster, and the Earth Kingdom villages have been traumatized enough. He supposes he could always call in a ride on his favorite air bison but - this feels like something he should do on his own.

If Song hates him, it might be hard for her to show it in front of the Avatar.

So he'll go alone. No friends, no royal guard. He'll come into Song's town the same way he came last time - defenseless. She can hate him if she wants, he'll give her that.

And he'll try to give back what he took from her.

He packs light, pulling an old tunic and boots from the back of his wardrobe. Though they've been thoroughly cleaned by the palace staff, the scent of campfires and smoke linger upon them. He grabs a cloak - the Earth Kingdom will be starting to chill at this time of year - and he slips out of the palace, using the servant's entrance to get onto the streets unseen.

Autumn comes quietly in the Earth Kingdom. The trees slowly lose their color, giving the last of their strength into vibrant leaves. Soldiers previously conscripted to fight in the war have either returned to their families or have gone to tend to the scorched earth where the Phoenix King made landfall. They clear the debris of fallen airships, making room for the earth to slowly restore herself.

Song envies those soldiers.

Their lives have changed with the ending of the war, but Song's life continues on, its mundane routine continuing over and over again. She cares for a small garden, crafts herbal remedies for her neighbors, and tries to make her mother comfortable. She curses the Spirits for their cruel sense of humor - her mother survives the greatest war ever seen, lives through the attempted invasion of her homeland, only to be struck down by frailty months after the end of it all. Hasn't she suffered enough? Song has whispered those words to the woods on her way to the well time and time again. Now, her body is just - stopping.

Her mother is dying and there's nothing she can do.

Song knows all living things have their time. And she's seen too many living beings go before their rightful time. But she never imagined her mother's time would be in a time of peace. Wasn't ending the war supposed to stop all this pain? Apparently not. She tries not to become bitter, knows that that's the last thing her mother would want for her, but - it hurts. And there's not a damn thing she can do about it.

The leaves from dying trees crackle under her feet.

She arrives at the well, alone. Her hometown is just barely beginning to wake up, rising from its slumber as mothers bring in dry clothes from the clotheslines and fathers begin to toil in the fields. Children run freely from street to street, with a joy that was forbidden during the Fire Nation's occupation. They're kicking at a ball, passing it from one pair of bare feet to another, and Song smiles at them. Someday, maybe.

She sets her water jug on the stone wall of the well and begins to lower the bucket before hearing the ball make impact and a man's voice grunt, "oof!". She spins rapidly around to see a young man, rear planted firmly in the dirt, one hand rubbing at his forehead while the other wipes at a watering eye. The group of children stand, frozen, and she gives them a look, and unspoken command to stay and apologize to the man they just hit with their ball.

"Here, take my hand," Song holds out her right hand, and the man takes it. When the young man meets her eyes, she almost drops him back in the dirt. He has those amber eyes, and she can just see under his loose hair - a burn scar. "Lee?!"

He stands, brushing dust from his cloak, and she catches the hints of red fabric that lie beneath. She recoils. He sighs. "Um, about that." Song sees his hands tremble against his cloak. "My name's not Lee - and I'm from the Fire Nation."

Song reacts as if she'd been slapped. She trips backwards, away from Not Lee, landing hard against the stone of the well. Her leg is aching, feels like its on fire all over again, looking into those amber eyes.

"How could you? I let you into my home." She braces her hands against the well, her leg threatening to give out at any moment. "Now it all makes sense, that you stole from me. That's all you ashmakers are good for." She spits, and it lands on his scarred cheek. "You take land that isn't yours, take women that aren't yours, you take lives!" Her leg finally collapses, and she sinks to the ground with her back against the well. Not Lee makes a move, and she throws her hands up. "Don't you touch me," she grits out, clutching at her leg. He stills, and she wraps her arms around herself, bringing her knees to her chest. "I pitied you, you know? I thought your mother must've been - I looked at your eyes and thought you were a victim like me, like my mother." Her whole body is trembling, but she doesn't care. "But I bet you know who your father is, I bet you're proud to have his eyes."

Not Lee mirrors her, curling in on himself, not even bothering to wipe his face clean. "I do know who my father is, but I'm not proud of him." He looks up to meet her eyes, and Song is struck by how young he looks. When she'd last seen him, he'd looked gaunt, malnourished, with sharp cheekbones. Now, his face had filled out and he looks - young? The scar makes him look older as well, but when you look on the opposite side of his face - all she can see is a kid, couldn't be older than a teenager.

And he was crying.

Stubborn as he is, Not Lee is resolutely ignoring the tears slowly falling from his eyes, but nevertheless - they fell. Song didn't expect that reaction. Tears are not what she expected from a Fire National. Anger, rage, violence - those are the things she's tasted at the hands of firebenders, but this? This is new.

"I'm sorry," Not Lee whispers, looking at his feet. "I came to apologize, I wanted to repay you for your kindness and return what I took. But I think I've overstayed my welcome." He scrubs at his face roughly with the heel of one hand. "But I am, truly sorry. I acted selfishly the last time I was in your home, and I took advantage of your compassion. And I understand that my nation has done even worse. I'm trying to make it better." He pulls his hair back with a band. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I would like to purchase you a new ostrich-horse. And anything else you or your mother may require."

Without warning, Not Lee shifts from his seat position to a bowing one, kneeling with his head pressed to the dry earth. Song stares at him for a small eternity, before realizing that he's waiting, unmoving, for her response. For her judgement.

She lets out a small breath. "Okay," his eyes flick up to hers and her stomach twists. The way he bows is so precise - it must have been drilled into him hundreds of times before. Another thing she wouldn't have expected from a firebender. "Come to dinner."

He stands after she does and gives another slight bow. As they begin the walk back to Song's home, he offers to carry her water jug, and Song feels more weight than one lifted from her.

"What did you say your name was again, young man?" Mei pokes at Zuko's shoulder as she hobbles to the table.

"Mom, I'm sorry about her, she's getting older," Song sets a bowl of fragrant roast duck in front of him and Zuko feels his mouth begin to water.

"No, it's okay, I don't think I've actually properly introduced myself." He takes a quick sip of tea - bracing himself for whatever will happen next - and calmly sets the mug back down. "My name is Zuko," he begins slowly. "AndI'mkindoftheFirelord."

There's the sound of Song dropping a bowl in the kitchen, and Mei leans in a bit closer to Zuko.

"Sorry, dear, could you say that again? My ears aren't what they used to be."

Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but Song slowly enters the room, her eyes narrowed in on Zuko. "You said - you're the firelord?" He nods at her, waiting for her to swing a knife at him, kick him out of their home, call some earthbenders to rough him up -

Before his panic can start to set in, Song runs out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Zuko looks helplessly at Mei.

"Give her a moment." Mei brings her pair of chopsticks to her mouth. "Hmm, she still doesn't make it as well as I used to."

"What about you? Do you hate me?"

Mei sighs, putting her bowl down. "I'm too old for hate, dear. My time in this world is almost over. I can't spend it hating world rulers." She takes a sip of her tea. "But Song? She -" Mei sighs again. "She's been hurt deeply by the Fire Nation, in more ways than one. And it isn't just you. But for a long time, the monarchy has been the embodiment of everything terrible that's ever happened to her. And now you're here, standing in front of her."

Zuko nods. "I understand. And I am sorry, to you as well. I don't think I fully understood the reach of the war. I was always taught that the army acted with honor, that women and children were untouchable." He looks down at his folded hands. "I can see that was false."

"Unfortunately, you are correct." She reaches between them to refill Zuko's cup, then Song's, and hands them both to him. "Go to her. A bit of tea should help bring you some good favor."

The screen door opens and closes, and Zuko finds himself out on the porch. Song sits on the edge, absently massaging her leg, peering into the darkness of the forest.

"Can I join you?"

She shrugs, and he takes that as a yes. Handing over her tea, Zuko sits besides her and tries to find what she sees in the darkness.

For a few minutes, the only sounds are those of them drinking and crickets chirping. Then Song speaks.

"His name was Bao."

Treasured. Precious. Rare.

"That's a lovely name."

"What happened to him?" Song turns abruptly to look at him with shining eyes. "Did he...?"

Zuko shakes his head emphatically. "My Uncle and I traded him to a florist for safe passage to Ba Sing Se. The florist seemed like a good man."

"You went to Ba Sing Se?"

Zuko runs one hand down the back of his neck. "I might have conquered it, actually?"

Sing snorts. "That part I've heard about. You've lived an interesting life, Zuko."

"If by 'interesting' you mean messy, then yes." He sighs. "You had no reason to trust me. Why did you let me back into your home?"

Song laughs, tinged with bitterness. "My mother says I'm too trusting, too gullible." She swirls the dregs of her tea around the bottom of her cup. "But I think there's strength in being kind. And I really did want to forgive you. But you have to be ready."

"And do you think I am?"

She smiles softly at him. "For me, yes. But my guess is I'm not the only person you hurt in exile." She gulps down her remaining tea. "They may not be as forgiving as I am."

"I'm preparing myself for that possibility."

"Does it scare you?"

Zuko ponders it. "I think it does. The idea that I've hurt someone innocent so badly that they may never be able to move past it... that keeps me up at night."

Songs turns towards him, tucking her knees up to her chest. "We can't control how other people see us in this life. How they react to our actions is up to them - all that we can control is our response. You have to be ready to accept that someone may not be ready to forgive you, and you can't let that eat you up." She stares at him intently. "You have to confident that your own actions are enough. That they're good."

It's Zuko's turn to laugh sourly. "Easier said than done," his hand wanders to his scar. "Sometimes I'm still not sure if what I'm doing is right."

"You don't have to do it alone, you know," Song gives him an understanding look. "You need other people around you, Zuko, to remind you what's good."

He huffs, looking down at his hands, folded in his lap. "Do you want to be one of those people?"

"I think you have more than enough goodness surrounding you already. You just have to be confident enough to ask." She sighs, looking back out into the darkness. "Besides, I have to stay here with my mother. She doesn't have long."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do? I could send my healers -"

She shakes her head, cutting him off midsentence. "It's her time." She begins to rub at her scars again. "I just didn't know how much it would hurt. We finally have some peace, and suddenly it's her time."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, not for this. It's due to you that she'll be able to die during peacetime." Her hands come to her eyes, wiping tears away before they can spill down her cheeks. "Her biggest fear was that she'd die and leave me alone to fend for myself during the war. You released her from that fear. Of course I forgive you, Zuko. My mother's no longer scared of dying because of you."

The two of them are silent for a long time, watching fireflies flicker off and on in the trees, listening to the crickets sing.

"I'm going to find Bao for you."

Song looks up in surprise. "You don't have to-"

"I want to, I'm sure he's still out there somewhere." Zuko rises from his seat. "If you ever need anything, anything, you write directly to me. I'll tell my staff that you're a priority."

"Are you leaving?" Song stands as well. "You could stay, if you want."

Zuko shakes his head silently. "I have to get back, and travelling by night is best for a Firelord who doesn't want his identity revealed," he smiles, his scarred skin relaxing into it. With that, he pulls his hair out of its topknot, grabs his pack and swords, and starts to disappear into the night.

"Firelord Zuko?" He stops and turns back at the sound of Song's voice. She makes the sign of the flame and bows. "Thank you, for everything." He bows back, lower than protocol dictates, but he doesn't care.

Three weeks pass, and the air has turned bitterly cold.

Song again makes her daily trip to the village well, with snow crunching under her feet instead of dead leaves. The soldiers have returned from their work in restoring fields for the season, and so the village feels alive when she steps into it. Despite the chill, children still run in the street, under the watchful eye of their mothers and fathers. Song feels a twinge of longing, but she tries to focus on the happiness she feels for the children instead. Song sets her water jug on the side of the well, breathing hot air into her palms to warm her hands after touching the freezing stone.

"Excuse me, miss, are you Song?" A voice comes from behind her, and she turns to see two men dressed in red tunics.

"I am," she replies, tucking her hands into the pockets of her hanbok. "And you are?"

They bow to her. "We come on behalf of Firelord Zuko, to deliver a gift." A third man rounds the corner with an ostrich-horse on a tether. "We found him at a desert settlement, he's been well taken care of, but if there's anything you need -"

They're cut off as Song runs to throw her arms around the neck of the ostrich-horse. "Bao!" She strokes his beak, looking into his eyes. "Do you remember me?"

Bao cocks his head to the side, pupils widening as he chirps softly, and then he lets out a loud whinny, pushing his head into Song's chest. He purrs, closing his eyes and relaxes against her.

"Sweet Bao, it's really me, you're really home," Song can feel her eyes dampening, but holds it together as one of the men hands her a bit of parchment.

"A note from the Firelord. He wanted us to remind you that you can write to him anytime you need anything."

Song nods. "And tell him I said 'thank-you' again." Bao whinnies loudly again, and she adds on, "Bao says 'thank-you' too."

"Of course, miss." With a synchronized bow, the men depart, and Song unrolls the parchment.

Song,

I've followed your advice and surrounded myself with good people. It helps.

Give my best to your mother - my Uncle still talks about her roast duck sometimes. I've established a fund specially for women and child victims of the war, inspired by some of what you and Mei shared with me. Write me if you feel like you or anyone in your village wants to apply for it.

And, thank you for trusting and forgiving me. I'll try to keep earning it.

May the Spirits continually bless you,

Zuko

She tucks the parchment into her pocket, fills her jug, and finds herself back in Bao's familiar saddle after more than a year. "Come on, Bao," she says as she takes the lead into her hands, guiding them back to the empty farmhouse.

"Let's go home."

[if you read through this whole thing, go drink some water! I'll know if u don't :) ]

[cocomaxley]

Heart Flutters & Dopamine Levels

I'm participating in my first ever @wackydrabbles. This week's prompt is "Okay, wow, you just dumped a lot of information on my lap and gave me no time to process it."

Pairing: Zaid x Ines

Book: Open Heart

Summary: Zaid has an important question to ask Ines.

Word Count: 1,024

Thanks to @ao719 for your help and encouragement to participate! 💜🖤

Zaid rested his fork on his empty plate. He looked at the woman sitting across from him, feeling a blush creep on his cheeks. Ines smiled at him sweetly. He patted his pocket feeling the small box. His heart began to race.

One week earlier…

Baz arrived in the apartment he shared with his identical twin. Zaid was pacing back and forth mumbling to himself. He didn't even notice his brother staring at him with a confused expression on his face.

“Bro...are you alright?”

Zaid jumped when he realized he was no longer alone.

“Yeah...no...yeah...no I'm…”

Baz began to worry about his mental state. With budget cuts at the hospital, the staff was working more hours and getting less sleep.

He placed his hands on Zaid’s shoulders. “Dude, take a breath. What's wrong?”

As instructed he took a deep breath to compose himself. He then blurted out, “I love her and I want to have kids and grandkids and I will punch anyone that flirts with her and I love her and iwannamarryher. Should I ask her to marry me and have my babies?”

Baz took a step back staring at his twin thoughtfully. “Okay, wow, you just dumped a lot of information on my lap and gave me no time to process it.”

Zaid slumped down onto the sofa, placing his head in his hands. “Please process and then tell me I'm not crazy.”

“Of course you're not crazy! That's awesome you're ready to take the next step.” He clapped his shoulder. “Everyone thinks you and Ines make a great couple. She's nice and you're grumpy. She's sweet and caring, you're cold and kind of a dick. It's the perfect balance.”

Zaid breathed a sigh of relief. “How do you think I should ask her? You know I don't like to make a big deal out of things, but for her, I would.”

Baz jumped to his feet, excited. “You could take her skydiving, then as you're jumping out of the plane, you yell, ‘MARRY ME!’”

“No.”

He was not deterred at his brother’s negative response. “Ok, ok...what if you do a singing telegram-”

Zaid rolled his eyes. “No. Absolutely not.”

Baz was ready with another suggestion. “What about asking her during dinner?”

He nodded. “Ok, this isn't bad...keep going…”

“Then you could stand on the table and yell out how much you love her-”

“And we're done here.” Zaid walked towards his bedroom grumbling. “At least I wouldn't have to live with him anymore.”

Baz dialed a number on his phone. “Lahela, my brother is going to propose to Ines!”

Bryce replied, “That's awesome! Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he's going to ruin it. We have to help. Hell, I'll do it myself.”

Back at the restaurant…

Soft piano music played in the background. He took a large sip of his drink, trying but failing to keep his shaky hand steady. Zaid reached across the table, taking Ines’s hand in his, the warmth of it calming his nerves.

Finally, he got the courage to speak. “Ines, we've been dating for a while now and I've ever felt this way for anyone before. You have made me so happy. I love you.”

She smiled at her boyfriend. “Zaid, that's so sweet. I love you too, Mr. Grumpy.”

He chuckled at the nickname she had given him. He didn't mind when she called him that. He stood up from his seat and approached her. He was about to get down on his knee when all of a sudden the music stopped abruptly. He heard tapping on the microphone. Then he heard a familiar voice coming through the speakers.

“Excuse me, if I could have your attention please!”

Zaid quickly turned and saw his brother in the center of the room. Bryce stood next to him grinning awkwardly waving his fingers at the patrons in the restaurant.

“My brother is here today.” Baz pointed in Zaid’s direction. “Oh look! There he is. We're twins in case you couldn't tell.”

His smiling face met his brother’s surly one. Zaid moved his hand across his throat trying to stop his brother from continuing. Baz didn't get the hint.

He cleared his throat. “I'd like to dedicate the next song to Zaid and Ines on a special night.”

Baz sat on the piano bench and began to press the keys. Zaid realized that he did not know how to play the piano nor did he know how to sing. However, that did not discourage Baz.

I can show you the world

Shining, shimmering, splendid

Tell me, princess, now when did

You last let your heart decide?

I can open your eyes

Take you wonder by wonder

Over, sideways and under

On a magic carpet ride

He turned to his friend. “Lahela, sing Jasmine’s part…”

Bryce shook his head. “Nope, I'm out, man.”

Zaid covered his face with both hands. “I wish I was an only child.”

Ines couldn't contain her laughter. “What is all this about?”

Zaid took her by the hand and led her out of the restaurant as Baz continued to serenade the people inside. When they were finally outside, he turned to face his girlfriend.

“Ines, you make me a better man. I never thought I'd find love until the first time I heard you laugh. The sound made my heart flutter and dopamine levels go all silly. The more I've gotten to know you, the more I realized I never want to be without you. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He dropped down to one knee. Ines gasped, then covered her mouth.

“Will you keep my heart fluttering and marry me?”

He looked at her with vulnerable eyes, her own filling with happy tears. “Yes, Zaid! Yes!”

She pulled him onto his feet and into a deep kiss. “You make my heart flutter too.”

He placed the ring on her finger then kissed her again. Nothing could ruin this moment. Not even the fact that he could still hear his brother singing inside the restaurant.

********

Sucks to be my friend tag list: @ao719 @emichelle @the-soot-sprite @zaffrenotes @burnsoslow @annekebbphotography @loveellamae @aestheticartwriting @dcbbw @mfackenthal @flyawayboo @princess-geek @poorchoicesplayer @rookie-ramsey

[mermaidsirennikita]

So I don’t know if you’ve ever answered this but what’s that one book(s) that you really hate to love?

I hope you don't mind me publishing this--I feel like I should have this tagged lol.

Well, as I mentioned when answering some earlier asks, I REALLY love Seduce Me At Siunrise by Lisa Kleypas in a lot of ways, but I also think it has a lot of problematic elements that need to be addressed. Mine Till Midnight (and to a lesser extent Devil in Winter because Cam is a supporting character in that book) also have those issues, but again Cam really isn't the focus in DiW and I don't *love* Mine Till Midnight (I do like the story aside from the representation issues, but I'm not passionate about it).

The Highlander by Kerrigan Byrne is a book that I would probably adore but I always have to put a huge fucking asterisk beside it because a) the hero is a literal war criminal b) I reeeeeally hate the way one Indian character is depicted. I've seen mixed receptions from South Asian reviewers re: that character, so I defer to them, but I just can't personally put a stamp of approval on that book.

Same thing with The Hunter by Kerrigan Byrne, but it's more that there are a couple of choices and descriptions made that really fucking bug me--a supporting character teaches the hero martial arts, the supporting character is an Asian man, I do not like how he is depicted at all. The Hunter would be insanely good if not for these issues, but they are there, and as such I think I knocked like two to three stars off my Goodreads rating.

It does suck because I do think both Kleypas and Byrne are talented writers, and based off their interviews I think they probably intended to like.... make their books more diverse? But they just didn't educate themselves to the extent that they should, and those elements are very harmful. It's something that I as a (white, cis) writer have to keep in mind when trying to incorporate representation into what I write. There's a fine line between good rep and bad rep and I think that a lot of people cross the line without intending to. Which does not excuse those actions, and for fuck's sake I certainly can't excuse them.

I kinda have a love/hate relationship with Tessa Bailey, lol. Like I think she writes such hot sex scenes, and I so admire her ability to GO FOR IT, and I'd recommend her to literally anyone looking for hot contemporary romances....... But do I cringe a little at some of the dirty talk dialogue? Yes. I also had a hard time getting out of my head for "Fix Her Up", which I otherwise kind of loved, because the heroine is a twenty-something children's clown who is about to buy a house. I am a twenty-something who works two jobs (one of which is full time) and I cannot buy a house and do not know if I will ever b able to buy a house. So. That detail makes my eye twitch a bit.

I would say The Love Hypothesis but fuck that, I wholeheartedly enjoyed the fuck outta that book. It did give me, a woman with large breasts, a moment of "wow" when the hero literally fit the heroine's entire breast in his mouth, because if someone tried to that with me he'd actually die.

I do sometimes hate myself for loving Katee Robert's Villains series, not because they're in any way badly done, but because I sometimes remember that they are in fact based on Disney characters, and I have a.... problem.... with Disney. But that's my relationship with anything Disney-related, which is everything in media. Is it difficult to get some people in my life to try Desperate Measures when the characters are named Jafar and Jasmine? Yes.

I'll be real, I don't think Mariana Zapata's books are very........... good. But I do love From Lukov with Love. And I have even more of a love/hate relationship with Kulti, but I did enjoy it. I have not liked anything else I've read by her, though.