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delphi-shield · 1 month ago

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— 「 FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT 」

fake dating/christmas party/hurt/comfort ❄️ leon secret santa ❄️ gift for @mydarlingclaudia

MERRY CHRISTMAS MISS CLAUDIA i'm your secret santa! i've wanted to write og4 leon for this blog for a while and when i got you for secret santa i was like IT'S TIME lmao. i hope you enjoy and i hope you have the best christmas!

wc: 5k

summary: leon's in a bind. he thought he would have a love life by christmas, but the holidays have rolled around and he's still single. you'll pretend to be his date for just one night, right?

content: fake dating, real dating, coworkers, christmas parties, mistletoe, lots of late night conversations, lots of self-doubt, secret loser leon, technically post-re4. divider from @/strangergraphics

Over the past year, you've discovered that Leon's really good at pitching a fit when he doesn't want to do something - or, at least, when he thinks he doesn't want to do something. He'll bitch and moan about being tired, about how he just wants to stay in and have a 'chill date' with some old movie. No amount of assuring him that he would have fun once he got there would make him stop dragging his feet. That very night, you’d been waiting for him at the door with arms crossed, already decked out in your Christmas sweater, cheap reindeer antler headband affixed to your head.

Leon lets out a quiet puff of laughter when he slouches into the room, looking considerably less festive than you. He takes in your appearance - your tacky sweater, your headband, the way you pout and tap your foot impatiently. How, exactly, was he supposed to take this seriously?

“What, no one let you play any reindeer games?” Leon quips, taking his sweet time putting his shoes on.

You roll your eyes. When you finally manage to get him out the door, he has a blast. You know it, he knows it - this part is just mandatory torture, a bonding experience he loves to put you through.

"We go, we say hello, we leave." You assure him. “We don’t have to stay long.”

Leon might buy that at this moment, but you know the second you step through the door, you won't be leaving that Christmas party until the very end. Two hours in, you would be ready to go and Leon would be having the time of his life. You would be tugging at his sleeve, checking on him:

Ready to go? No, sorry, hun. Let me finish my beer and we can go.

Like clockwork. You weren't even sure he knew that he did that.

The Christmas music on the radio doesn’t do much to assuage his mood. He’s pouting the whole drive over. As soon as he pulls up to the house, he repeats the same mantra:

"We get in, we say hello, we leave." His hand smacks against the steering wheel to emphasize each point in the plan. You already have your door open, swinging out the side and marching up the freshly shoveled sidewalk.

"The decorations are so cute," you coo, crouching down to examine a particularly adorable light up gingerbread house - and to give him time to catch up.

Leon guides you up from the ground with a hand hovering behind your back. He herds you further down the sidewalk, still eager to get this over with. By the end of the night, you would be the one begging him to leave, but for now, you let him grouchily jam the doorbell.

Warmth floods out to greet you when Claire opens the door, the scent of cider and cinnamon rushing up to usher you in. Claire coos over your outfit, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"I should have put more effort in," she says, the pom of her Santa hat bouncing against her cheek. She's otherwise under dressed for the occasion, choosing comfort over festivity.

"What? No. Look at this place. You did all the decorations. That's way more effort," you counter, toeing off your shoes and stripping off your heavy coat.

Claire laughs. "I made my brother do most of it."

"Good to see you, too, Claire," Leon says, bristling over being ignored. She waves her hand, half hello, half dismissing him, and guides you further into the house, pointing you to the refreshments and giving a quick tour of the decorations.

Wherever Leon slinks off to, you're unconcerned. You have catching up to do just as much as he does.

Claire pops her hip up against the drink table. You twist the cap off your beer. Claire fishes one up for herself and pops the lid off against the table in one fluid motion. You huff a quick laugh - her party, her rules.

"So," Claire starts, leaning back against her elbows and surveying the crowd. She tracks your eyes for a moment, watches you watching Leon across the room. "I’ve been wondering. How did you guys actually meet?"

"What?" You laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. You take a drink, buy yourself some time to feel out Claire's intention.

"Well, obviously, the first story you told me was a crock of shit," she laughs.

You can't argue with that. The first time you had met Claire, you had been masquerading as Leon’s partner, sparing him the embarrassment of turning up to her Christmas party alone. You hadn’t exactly announced to his friends that your first time meeting them had been a lie.

"I didn't lie," you point out. "Not totally."

"A lie by omission is still a lie."

"We actually did meet at work."

Claire rolls her eyes. She won't put up with this for long. “I mean, I buy that. But he absolutely did not charm you over the comms on some classified mission.”

There’s no part of you that wants to argue in Leon’s defense. He was a nightmare to work with, knew just how to get under your skin, and you were more than happy to have Hunnigan continue to babysit him.

“If you really want to know…”

It was the Wednesday before Christmas Eve when Leon's coiffed head popped up above your cubicle. Never a good sign. Where he went, trouble (and acclaim) followed. You filled in for Hunnigan once when she was out with bronchitis, and now you can't get rid of her puppy. He keeps coming back, a particularly malignant tumor that metastasizes over the walls of your cubicle, spills onto your desk and messes with your letter trays.

“You busy?” His arm slings over the top, hand drumming against the wall of your cubicle.

Stay strong, you think. Try not to move. Play dead. Maybe he'll get bored and move on. You try to type faster and only wind up jamming the keys down harder. Leon drums his hand quicker, rhythm irregular.

“What does it look like?” You bite out.

Mission failed. You weren't trained to resist torture like he was. In fact, you specialized in answering stupid questions and pointing out the obvious. It was a key component of your job.

Leon’s job, apparently, entailed blatantly ignoring hints. He swings into your cubicle, brushes aside a stack of documents to sit on your desk. His forearms balance on his thighs, hands held together between his knees.

“I need a favor.”

It just gets worse. What kind of favor could Special Agent Kennedy possibly want from you, and why did you have a feeling that it was going to be off the books?

"If I'm doing favors, I'm staying clocked in," you drone.

"Not possible for this one," he shrugs. "Sorry. I'll make it up to you."

You roll your eyes. Silence stretches between the two of you, filled only with the intermittent clicks of your mouse as you try to track down the most up to date geospatial information for your assigned agent - you know, the one you're actually supposed to be dealing with.

Leon's both annoying and persistent. He shakes his fringe from his face, stretches out 'so...' into an elongated, cowish sound that sets your teeth on edge. You roll your hand, gesturing for him to continue.

"I need a date," he blurts out. He's smart enough to continue speaking quickly, hand already raised - palm outward, begging for peace. "Not a real date. Just for a couple of hours, for a party. We go, we say hello, we leave."

A beat. You give him time to throw in a ‘just kidding’. God knows you aren’t throwing him a life preserver. When he twiddles his thumbs, content to sink instead of bail himself out, you scoff. You don’t even look up from your computer.

"That is, by far, your worst line."

"I’m serious. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking. You don’t have to talk to me ever again."

Your eyes cut over to him. Not a single smug smirk in sight. You're almost surprised by the pleading hiding behind his eyes. You take it all in, try to assess him for any hint of deceit. You only find the bags under his eyes, darker than you'd seen before.

“Go alone,” you shrug.

“I can’t. I’ve been –” Leon stops. He sits up tall, peers over the top of your cubicle to see who’s around. Meerkat is a good look on him, his nose sharp in profile, brow furrowed and focused. You avert your eyes back to your computer. He lowers his voice, his eyes still flitting around for eavesdroppers. “I’ve… exaggerated the truth about my love life to a few friends. I promised I would introduce them to someone at this party.”

You note the desperation, try to stay impartial. You're good at that part, too. Trained for it. He’s in a bind of his own making. Some humility would do him good. You’d be doing him a favor by making him own up to his lie.

Your gut flips when you consider his proposal. What was this, high school? Why could he possibly need a fake date? It was so immature, you almost couldn't believe it.

Another thought burns at the back of your mind, keeps you wary. You can't help but feel used. What, he was fine pretending to take you out but couldn't conceive of actually asking you to go to his stupid party? It had to be fake, a preservation of his ego. You weren't even a part of this equation.

You should say no. You should leave him high and dry, make him look like an idiot in front of his friends - because that's what he is. An idiot. An idiot who can't get an actual date to save his life.

"Match my salary, then we'll talk."

Leon groans, head flopping back against your cabinets. He’s considering it, you can tell.

What’s the harm in it, you wonder, casting him a sidelong glance. It would be nice to have something to do on Christmas Eve.

"You owe me for this. You're gonna pick me up."

Leon's eyes light up. He hops off your desk, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. You hold up a finger to stop him before he can talk himself out of this.

"And you're gonna buy me dinner."

"There's food at the party."

"Good food?"

"If you don't like it, I'll get you something on the way home."

That's more like it. You spin back to face your computer, pulling your report back up.

"Deal. What's the dress code?"

Leon's silence speaks volumes. He's completely helpless when it comes to the details. You had figured someone with his looks had a social life that was bursting at the seams, that he was taking the fat field agent paycheck and he was hopping from party to party.

It's at his friend's house, he explains. You note the hesitation before he says 'friend'. Maybe it is all a front. Kennedy can't really go home to an empty apartment and a silent phone, can he? Everyone made him sound like such a big shot. You didn't expect the snapshots of your lives to be matching photographs, a wide shot when you held them next to each other. You try to picture his living room and all you can envision is a beige box.

You wring what little information he has out of him with a series of direct, probing questions. You're both comfortable in this routine. The quick, perfunct back and forth, an exchange not unlike one you might have over comms. He scribbles his number onto a sticky note and slides it over to you. You’ll work out the details of your story later, make it bulletproof.

The idea has been ghosting around the crevices of your mind for the entire day. You force yourself to wait a little longer before calling him, give him time to get home and get settled in. Trying to do the same is fruitless. Your appetite has mysteriously vanished, your Wednesday night show not catching your attention. You choke down half a bowl of cereal before you drum up the courage to call him.

"So, how did we meet?" You start, skipping past hello.

"Work."

"Going with the truth on that one?" You toss a piece of popcorn into your mouth, eyes fixed on your show.

"Helps to sprinkle the truth in with the lie, right?"

You can practically hear the grin on his face. You roll your eyes and bite back a sharp response. No need spoiling the mood immediately. You already agreed to do this. You won't make it harder than it needs to be.

"When did you ask me out?"

“Does that seriously matter?”

Of course it matters. Leon’s completely useless at this kind of thing, it turns out. You had expected more. He seemed the type to have experience. Maybe your own naivety had caught up to you. His confidence had you fully convinced that this would be a cake walk.

Was this seriously the guy who had single-handedly rescued the president’s daughter a few months back? Because he was floundering when you asked him if he had met your parents yet.

“Do you want me to meet them?”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, “No. They would eat you alive.”

That one stays in the story. It’s too believable not to. You bet Leon makes a real fool of himself in front of parents.

That’s where you went wrong. As soon as you started to rationalize what a relationship with him might look like, to add that touch of realism that would sell this story, you were fucked. He indulges all your questions and your musings.

Thursday night, you call him to ask what shows you watch together. He doesn’t see the point, doesn’t get that TV is such an important, ritualistic component of a relationship - or, at least, one that you want. He lets you pick, snorting in surprise when you name a dating show on VH1. You assign him homework. Watch the newest episode the Sunday before the party, and you’d fill him in on the details on the ride to the party.

Friday, you ask him what pet names he wants to use. He flounders again, acting dismissive in a way that you’ve now identified as embarrassment. You bite back the urge to tease him and offer up some suggestions instead.

“‘Babe’ is fine, I guess,” he says, “but I’m probably just going to call you by your name.”

When you hang up that night, you wonder if he meant it. Babe fits your perception of him from a week ago, but now you aren’t so sure. You turn the question over and over in your head for the next day, trying out different names in his voice. Something simple and classic, maybe. ‘Honey’, or ‘sweetie’.

The question is still turning in your mind when he calls you on Saturday. You don’t have a chance to get your question out. He blindsides you with his own.

“Have we said ‘I love you’ yet?”

Your mind races to catch up. Had he? No way. He mumbled when he got off the phone sometime, but there was no way that was an ‘I love you’. There was no way. It hadn’t even been a full week yet.

Then it clicks for you. Right. This is fake, all of it. Every phone call was for his benefit. You had initiated all of this. You should be happy that he’s finally contributing to the planning. You feel sick to your stomach instead.

“I don’t care,” you say, entirely nonchalant, none of it forced. The silence hangs over the line. You pray for Leon to let it go, to give you the grace that you haven’t given him.

He’s smooth with it - doesn’t point out the strain in your voice, blames it on a bad connection. For once, he takes the reins. No ‘I love you’ yet. He’s working up the courage, he says, and your heart clenches, breath catches, head spins.

You make an excuse to leave early. He reminds you to tune in for your show tomorrow. You hang up without saying goodbye.

He picks you up just like he promised. As much as you’d wanted to wear the silly, light-up Christmas sweater at the back of your closet, you couldn’t. You couldn’t show up as his date looking like that. No one would buy it. You already look out of place on his arm.

You’d expected the car ride to be awkward. The last time you’d seen him in person had been when you struck this whole deal. Instead of rehashing your story, though, Leon asks you question after question about the dating show you told him to watch.

To your surprise, he’d actually watched it. You go over the contestants, the washed up rock star they were all attempting to date, even recap the most notable drama. He’s hooked. The veneer of disinterest he tries to keep up is so thin it’s see through. You almost want to tell him to turn the car around so you can catch the reruns instead of suffering through this party.

You don't know what kind of party you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Every corner of the place was saturated in Christmas, inside and out. Garlands of popcorn and dried orange slices, a tree decorated so heavily with strands of lights and garish ornaments that it's branches sagged. The warm lights bathed everything in a smooth glow. The chill that had stung your face on the walk in melted away, leaving only the pulsing afterburn across your cheeks.

Plenty of people had already arrived - thank god. If you'd had to make awkward small talk with the host until people arrived to take the heat off of you, you might have just said fuck it and marched back to the car. You keep a firm grip on Leon's arm, eyes flitting across each and every face. You didn't recognize a single one of these people.

That's precisely why Leon chose you. It makes your stomach lurch to think about. You're convenient. A face to put to a title, to apply to the vague stories that Leon has fabricated. Anyone could be on his arm right now, and it wouldn't make a difference. No one would know.

You stay glued to his side for the first hour. It works well enough, a handful of people overjoyed to meet you after all the stories that Leon’s told. You do your best to keep the sparkle in your eye, to look at him like he makes the sun shine. It’s hard when it feels like the floor could open up and swallow you at any given moment, when each affectionate touch is just a tool.

You excuse yourself for a drink. That will help your nerves. It can’t make them any worse, that’s for sure. You have a clear window, the drink table empty. In and out, then back to Leon’s side.

Fishing up a beer from the ice chest, you scavenge around for a bottle opener. Christ - all these preparations and no bottle opener? You’re tunnel-visioned into your search, don’t even notice the woman joining you at the table

“Want some help with that?” A redhead chirps, sidling up to you. She holds her hand out for your drink.

What’s the harm? You pass it over with a ‘thanks’ that quickly turns to a sharp inhale. She pops the lid off the beer with the edge of the table, tears a jagged crescent through the plastic tablecloth - cut one of Santa’s reindeer clean in two.

“My party, my rules,” she laughs. “I’m Claire. You’re with Leon, right?”

Your stomach drops. You can practically peer down at yourself, your soul leaving your body for a brief moment. Shit– Leon had warned you about her. Said she wasn't malicious, per se, but she could sniff out bullshit quicker than most. You run the facts back in your mind. If you could get past her, you'd be golden.

Claire's finger bounces between you and Leon. She leans her hip against the table, folds her arms across her chest.

“I don't get that at all,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “What's the story?”

Holy shit, that was quicker than you expected. Stay cool. Remember your lines.

“We actually met at work,” you start. Easy enough. It’s not even a lie. You unravel the rest of the details for her one by one, plodding through the steps of your imagined romance with deliberate care.

Claire’s eyes stayed fixed on you. She smiles and laughs where appropriate, but she tracks you with the cold eyes of a wolf on the hunt. A chill pulses down your spine. Is it really so hard to believe that you’re with Leon? Do you look so out of place?

“Good for him,” she finally says. She takes a long drink, still watching you.

“He’s great.”

“He’s okay.”

Maybe she meant it as a joke, but you have to force your laugh out from around the lump in your throat. Did she buy it? You can’t tell. She claps you on the shoulder, harder than you expected.

“It was really great to meet you,” Claire says. She slips back into the crowd with a smile, flowing naturally into a group of guests. Your eyes linger on her, but she doesn’t look back. She doesn’t slip into hushed whispers, no one turns to stare in your direction.

You wind back through the crowd, glue yourself back to Leon’s side. He lifts his arm instinctively, curls it around your hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even pause his conversation.

How is this the same clueless man that you had spent half a week planning out every minute detail of your imagined relationship? How can he be so relaxed and in control now?

That’s the difference between the two of you, you realize. There was planning, and there was doing. Clearly, Leon could see his commitments through. You were botching this. Everyone knew you were a fake. They had to.

“You okay?” Leon asks, head inclined closer to your ear. You swallow thickly, force a smile.

“Are you about ready to go?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

He’s not - you can tell - but he tosses his snack plate in the trash and says a round of goodbyes anyway, urging you out the door.

The car is silent. Leon flips through radio stations, never staying on one for long. Christmas music, rock ballad, regular ballad, Christmas music again - repeat. He fidgets with the vents, turns the heat up, then down, one degree at a time.

"Seriously, you good?" he asks.You keep your face turned to the window, watching the decorations roll by.

Leon glances at you - or that's what he thinks, at least. His eyes linger for too long. He corrects his course sharply, swerving away from the curb at the last possible moment.

"Yeah. Fine."

Neither of you believe that. You’ve spent the whole night lying - he knows what it looks like, and he lets you get away with it.

Leon turns the music up a tick. You spend the rest of the drive in silence. He pulls up in front of your place and cuts the engine, and that has to be the record for world’s most awkward drive.

Bundling your things in your arms, you hurry out of his car with a quick ‘thanks for inviting me’ that feels misplaced given the circumstances - but what the hell else were you going to say? You needed to sleep this whole thing off.

"Hey."

You stop in your tracks. You're almost positive you've left a drag tail in the snow, stopped so fast you nearly slipped on the sidewalk. Leon's window is rolled down, his body nearly halfway out of it.

"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," he says.

Your heart deflates, a balloon released in your chest, bouncing off your ribs and drumming against your lungs before it floats pitifully to a rest in the pit of your stomach.

"No problem," you say, shoulders back, head held high. "To be honest, I didn't think anyone would buy it."

His head tips to the side. His eyes narrow, studying you, trying to figure out your meaning.

"Why? You did great."

"I don't know. I didn't think we would look like a very believable couple."

He sticks his head back into his car, fumbles with his seatbelt overlong, and finally pops the door open. His feet find traction on the icy sidewalk much easier than yours. You chalk it up to his boots, his training, anything to keep your mind on the little details instead of the big picture.

“I thought it was pretty believable.”

Don’t read into it, you tell yourself again and again. It’s just going to hurt if you try to interpret greater meaning from that.

“Yeah? Glad I could help.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, fishing clumsily for your keys. “Guess I’ll see you at work, then.”

Leon’s eyes cut back to your door. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, balanced perfectly on the ice. For a moment, you think you see his hand twitch towards yours. You linger, waiting for the touch of his hand around your wrist, willing the warmth that you imagine to be real.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods.

“Yeah. See you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Claire interjects. “He didn’t even ask you out that night? He walked you to the door and bailed?”

You shake your head. “I asked him out like a week later. We were working late on New Years. He said he knew a great spot for coffee if I wanted to go on break. I said we could only go on our day off.”

Her eyes sharpen, casting her hunt out into the crowd of party-goers. You find Leon first - hunched over a snack platter across the room, contributing minimally to conversation with some people from Claire’s work. Claire, experienced hunter that she is, tracks your sight to find her quarry.

“He is so stupid. So dumb. Look at you,” she declares, waving you up and down - presenting you. “He made you ask? Ooh, I’m gonna – Leon!”

Leon’s head pops up from the cheese tray - meerkat chic, swiveling in the direction of the woman on the hunt. Claire points to the ground in front of her sharply, doesn’t even have to bark out ‘c’mere’ before his training kicks in and he’s marching himself over.

“What’s up?” He pops a palmful of cashews into his mouth, then slides the same hand against the small of your back.

His casual attitude earns him no favors. Claire thwacks his shoulder, berates him for making you ask first. He shrinks away - play dead. You taught him that one.

“You ready to go?” You ask once Claire’s done ragdolling him and marches off to tell the others how spineless Leon is.

Leon surveys the party - that’s what you think he’s doing, at least. His gaze is focused higher, examining the doorways carefully. His eyes sharpen, lock on their target. He nods, his thumb rubbing gentle arcs against your back.

“Yeah. Let’s head out. Wait for me in the hall, okay? I’ll get our stuff.”

You follow his directions thoughtlessly, planting yourself in the hallway he had pointed to. Leon flits about, saying goodbyes as he weaves through the crowd. Your coat is slung over his arm when he winds his way back to you.

Before you can protest, tell him he forgot your bag and your scarf, he smacks a hand dramatically against his forehead. He holds up a finger - hang on, here, take this, I’ll be right back – kisses your forehead, and floats back into the crowd.

He comes out only holding your scarf. You huff. Leon’s not a forgetful man. This is clearly on purpose, for his own entertainment. He loops your scarf around your necks for you, settling it into place and tying a clumsy knot.

“Your bag. I forgot, I’m sorry.” He kisses your cheek as he turns.

There was a twinkle in his eye when he turned. You’d caught it. It wasn’t just the shine of the lights. He was up to something. You scan your surroundings, look for cameras hidden, for guests watching a little too intently. Nothing immediately jumps out at you. You glance up - and there’s the culprit. A little branch bound with twine, berries dotting the little branches, suspended over the doorway.

Schooling your face back into mild annoyance, you go so far as to tap your foot. If he wants to put on a show, so will you.

“Here you go,” he says, handing over your bag. You wait for his next move. No way this was the end of his plan - and you’re right. As soon as your bag is slung over your shoulder, he’s patting himself down. Front left, front right, back pockets at the same time, chest at the same time. “Shit. My keys. One second–”

You kiss his cheek before he can strike first.

“On the key rack,” you point out, hooking your thumb over your shoulder. “It’s bad karma to abuse the mistletoe, you know.”

Leon huffs. He spares the mistletoe above your heads a glance.

“You made that up.”

Absolutely, you did. He crosses through the doorway and snags his keys. Before you can head out the door, he dangles them over his head. You roll your eyes and kiss him square on the lips before he can justify his poor man’s mistletoe.

You’ll risk bad karma for a kiss.

#leonsecretsanta2024 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon s. kennedy x reader #resident evil fluff #x reader #merry christmas hehe #sorry i made the banner as a joke initially and then it didnt look right without it lmaooo

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taahko · 11 months ago

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I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before

oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long

ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv

but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec

for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:

september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please

more talking points:

consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"

hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized

in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party

there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea

details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2

we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments

overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.

#shut up aggie #mash #might add more to this later

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ilys00ga · 1 year ago

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𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀, 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀.

➞ pair: yoongi x reader.

➞ genre: hurt/comfort (why do I keep making these lmao), established relationships, I'm so bad at tagging sorry.

➞ warnings: angst and fluff cuz we all need that (we really do). reader has anxiety and abandonment issues, yoongi is trying his best for the sake of both of them, just relationship things.

➞ A/N: requested by @parkjennykim, this was very fun to write! thanks for yet another idea <3 I hope u like it. I'm organizing this blog/post (?) while listening to mono, and let me tell yall, it's such a vibe omg. I think you should read this while listening to that album, I love it sm, I can't even begin to explain UGH- if namjoon ever goes on a world tour, he better perform every single song in that album, cuz imma be losing my mind in the crowd, esp during moonchild. my vocal cords are already getting sore. yeah. if u want this to hit that spot, maybe u should do what I said (this is a friendly order, if u will). if not, just enjoy and pls ignore any mistakes, english has been challenging me recently (for the last 10 years lmao)

ps. I am in a dire need of a yoongi in my life. specifically the one I wrote in this one. oh how I love being a lonely fanfic writer <33

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

God knows how long it had been after it hit midnight when Yoongi stood in the kitchen. His eyes were red and heavy with drowsiness, but he couldn't sleep that night.

How does one sleep through a restless, biting night?

Surely not with a bad headache, or overflowing thoughts, and especially not with guilt chewing on his core.

He gulped, throat begging to be quenched as it held onto a slight, delicious, yet bothersome burning sensation. He opened the fridge and filled a glass with some water, raising it to his lips when loud a cry of his name, followed with a thud and a number of sobs, disturbed the quiet of the night and made him jump, startled.

His limbs froze in their place, glass almost slipping his hand and crashing on the floor when his sleep deprived brain realized that the muffled cries were yours.

Wide awake, he dashed after the sound. Thirst and sleep no longer occupied his mind, all he could think of was holding you in his arms.

He found you on the stairs, trembling as you wailed into your hands.

He hated it so much: seeing you in pain. He wanted nothing more than to shield you from the rainfall of your gloomy sky, from his own rainfall, from the world. How could one be an umbrella and the rain at once?

He blinked, once, twice, then gulped and heaved a deep, tired breath.

One storm doesn’t require another storm to be calmed down, that he knew. One needs to be composed and collected to stand still during a storm, that he knew as well.

With worried eyes, he gently called out your name and walked up to you, “darling, what’s wrong?”

You looked up as soon as you heard his worried voice, some tiny sense of relief washed over you when you saw him right there. A hundred daggers digged so deep into his heart and bones, aching, the moment a broken whimper of his name fell from your lips.

Without a second thought, Yoongi hugged your face to his chest. One of his hands was patting your back and the other affectionately caressed your head.

As he listened to his name that never left your lips, Yoongi held you there on the cold of the stairs with nothing but sweet nothings whispered back to your ears.

Everything he did and said was so gentle and soft, like he was so afraid you'd crack and come to tiny bits and pieces at any given moment. It all made you want to cry even harder, to hold him so tight and never let go.

Soon, when your tears started winding down, pulled away and cradled your face with his hands, palms faintly pressing on your cheeks as if he hoped to share their warmth with you.

Tender eyes met your wet ones and stared as their owner’s voice made its way through the noise of your sniffles and hiccups. He said, “It’s alright. I'm here. Talk to me, hmm?”

You answered his plea with a small nod, before wiping your tear stained skin and hugging him again. He smelt like home. You took a deep breath, greedily feeding your lungs with his lovely scent.

He hugged you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body closer to his. He pressed light kisses on your temple, patiently waiting for you to talk.

“I had a really scary nightmare. so, so scary- I woke up, didn’t find you there- then…then I remembered the fight we had earlier. I…I thought I lost you- I'm sorry. sorry for the stupid things I said earlier. I love you so much! please don’t leave. please..”

Your voice quivered with fresh tears ready to be spilled again. Yoongi started hushing you as soon as he noticed that you were working yourself up.

Squeezing you in his arms, he whispered “I never left, and I never will.”

“I’m all right, nothing happened to me, see?” he leaned away just enough to allow you to take a quick look at his body, then added, “a stupid fight is not going to make me leave. I love you way too much for that, and I'm sorry for hurting you too.”

He could still read fear and uncertainty all over your face, and he didn't like that. He knew that you trusted him, and he didn't doubt your love for him.

At first, he didn't get it. He didn't understand the insecurities, the anxiety and the nightmares you suffered from especially after the inevitably worst of arguments that happened between you and him. But after longer and deeper talks, with you expressing your feelings and him listening with careful ears, it made much more sense to him.

Sometimes he hated himself for triggering your alarms and making it harder for you, but he knew it was neither his fault nor was it yours.

Growth and pain are two key elements that come arm in arm with love, and fights are an unpreventable part of any kind of relationship. For all that, he always ended up blaming himself for making you question your worth to him when he can't even sleep without you happily cuddling his side.

Softly, lovingly, he started prepping tender kisses over your cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, temples, all over your flushed face.

It worked like watching waving fields of green wheat dancing with the wind, your storm started to slowly die down and your heart felt at ease again. slowly, but definitely.

Smiling ever so affectionately, Yoongi sealed his reassurance with a loving kiss that consumed you whole, and it left the corners of your mouth curving up in a dazzling smile. You nuzzled his chest and sighed.

“I really hate fighting with you.” you mumbled into his clothed chest, drained and light headed from all the crying and nearly-a-panic-attack you went through.

“I know, I'm sorry. I hate it too." he whispered back.

There was a pause of comfortable silence, with both of you breathing each other in, before he wondered aloud: “did you fall down the stairs? are you okay?”

You chuckled breathily at his question, recalling the hysteria he had to deal with just a few minutes ago. But Yoongi was there, right beside you. your arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, right by your side.

He had some kind of exceptionally irrepressible magic in those fierce eyes and that gummy smile of his, you inarguably couldn’t be more grateful for that.

“I'm alright. Was too busy crying, I didn’t even feel a thing to be honest.” you said, and he giggled.

“I love when you’re clumsy like that, but please be more careful, muffin. Can’t have you hurting yourself because of me even more." Even with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you could feel and hear the heavy pout in that comment.

Huffing, you leaned away with furrowed brows and a strict gaze. Yoongi gulped. Hesitation took over him, yet he knew that honesty is the only thing that must be present to drive this conversation to an end.

Honestly brings clarity, he found himself reminding himself of that very often.

"as long as we take care of each other, it's okay. I love you." you affirmed, and perhaps Yoongi almost teared up because of the way you looked at him right then and there. He wouldn't utter a word to spoil that information out loud, though.

The shy grin and the flushed cheeks you were met with were worth risking the entire world and its eight billion residents. You couldn't help but smile and pull him into another hug.

"This is great and all, but my butt is numbed. I think there's no blood flowing down there anymore," he said, his heart swooning when you giggled at his humorous change of topic, so relieved that he was finally able to hear your brightness again.

"Let's go back to rest, darling." He stood up, grabbed your hand and squeezed it in his, then gently pulled your body up and dragged you to your shared bedroom, where everything and everyone else meant little to nothing at all as you laid in each other's arms.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #bts scenarios #bts yoongi #yoongi angst #hurt/comfort #suga fluff #bts fluff #suga angst #suga fic #abandoment issues #bts imagines #bts fic

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yunhohours · 7 months ago

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ATEEZ: Top 5 Kinks

request: idk if you’ve done a post like this,,,but ateez’s top 5 (or even top 3) kinks?? and i love your blog so muchh.

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for two years (i'm so sorry). granted, i wasn't posting for one of those, but still. my b.

p.s. the kinks are not necessarily in order

hongjoong

restraints - he'll say he likes this because he gets to have you under his control, but he equally likes it if you ever turn the tables on him. frankly, he might even like it more when you restrain him.

temperature play - this one definitely goes both ways. his body is very sensitive, so doing something like taking an ice cube to it will have him shivering violently. he likes doing it to you too, though. he'll watch with fascination as hot wax drops onto your stomach, making the muscles tense in response.

lingerie - this one's a no-brainer. he very much appreciates good style and has an eye for aesthetics, so there's simply nothing better than seeing you in a pretty little piece. he will take you shopping and buy his favorites.

dry humping/clothed sex - i must reiterate how sensitive hongjoong is to stimulation. it doesn't take a whole lot to get him riled all the way up and once he's at that point, he does not want to stop and take the time to get undressed and all that. he also likes the idea of you being so desperate for each other (especially you for him) that you have to have him now.

cockwarming - to put it frankly, he just likes to torture himself sometimes lmao. like yeah, he really does love the intimacy of cockwarming, but he loves seeing how much he can take, too–not that he would tell you that.

seonghwa

perfume/cologne - truly, seonghwa loves all the atmospheric parts of sex–lingerie, lighting, occasionally some music. but when you wear a fragrance he likes, it goes right to his dick. he will not be shy about inhaling your scent, letting himself get drunk off it.

threesomes/sharing - to get this out of the way, you belong to seonghwa. he isn't into this because he likes you being with someone else. he does, however, love you with every single fiber of his being and wants nothing but the most mind-blowing pleasure for you. so he's happy to let someone else help him take care of you, as long as he's still your main focus.

sex toys - he likes toys for two reasons: 1) he likes going shopping for toys with you. it's like foreplay and he likes to have a pretty collection for you. 2) he likes to try them out on you to see what kind of reactions he can get.

voyeurism - this isn't something that happens often because he doesn't necessarily go out of his way to sate this kink, but if ever you two are in the position to watch someone else, you better believe you will be. touching each other the whole time, of course.

praise (giving) - this isn't a surprise considering seonghwa sings your praises all day long, anyway. but he puts a lot more effort into making you feel like the undeniable god/goddess you are when he's pleasuring you.

yunho

phone sex - you've heard yunho's sleepy voice in his voice messages and his lives. don't even play lad. he knows the affect it has on you and he very much uses it to his advantage. will call you when he knows his voice is dripping with extra rasp and play it off innocently only to be like aw~ do you like the sound of my voice~

somnophilia - likes it when he stirs barely awake in the middle of the night and fucks you until you both cum and drift off back to sleep. sleeps like a baby afterwards.

breeding - the fact that you'd let him breed you makes him fucking feral omg. uses this as an excuse to fuck every last brain cell out of you with no mercy (not that he needs an excuse for that).

orgasm denial (giving) - he will deny your orgasm over and over again with a smirk on his face and all the mock pouting he can muster. he always gives it to you in the end, though, and makes sure to love you so much extra afterwards.

finger sucking/fucking - much like his voice, yunho is also aware of the deadly weapons that are his hands. and just the same, he will abuse this power every chance he gets. always telling you to open your mouth for his fingers or ghosting them between your legs while he asks you if you want them inside you, already knowing the answer. he just wants to hear you say it.

yeosang

pet play - yeosang gets unreasonably hard at the sheer thought of collaring you. you can be his puppy or his kitten, he doesn't care. you just have to be a good pet, whatever you are, because his rules are strict.

dumbification - never one to half-ass something that matters to him, he is a master at pleasuring you. he knows all the right buttons to push and when he sees the physical evidence of his success in the form of babbling, drooling, or the inability to talk at all, he's the most satisfied.

spanking (giving) - tbh, this gives him a perfect way to peacock his strength. even if he doesn't slap your ass as hard as he possibly he can, he knows that you know how much damage he could inflict, should he so choose.

praise/degradation (giving) - he often switches back and forth in the same session. he'll be telling you how well you're doing for him one second and the next he's calling you a 'dumb little slut' for not being able to form sentences.

sexting - my guy's poker face when he's texting you around other people is unmatched for real. he will send you the most mouth-watering text with a straight face. he likes to test himself this way, seeing how much he can take before he's losing his mind to actually have you.

san

dirty talk - this man never closes his mouth when he's playing with you. he simply has to tell you every single nasty thought and idea he has. he loves it if you can talk dirty back to him, but even if you can't, he loves to see how flustered you get from everything he has to say.

face-fucking (giving) - the fact that you trust him this much <3 you giving him full ability to fuck your mouth and throat until they're sore is precious to him. he often happily loses himself in this, eyes closed and jaw slack. he won't go easy unless you need him to.

marking - san is possessive? who ever would've thought? he wants you to mark up his big, strong back with his nails and he wants to leave pretty hickies on you.

exhibitionism - he likes the full scale of exhibitionism. he's content to just have someone listening in the other room or accidentally seeing when they come into the room unknowingly, but he's also not shy to just fully and intentionally fuck you in front of other people. he knows he'd want to watch you two, so really, it's a favor to the lucky audience.

body worship (giving) - san will worship your body in and out of the bedroom, but he will take his fucking time doing it when you're naked and craving him. will kiss every inch of your body, muttering the most love-laced words as he does so. he treats making you cum like a tenet of the religion that is your body.

mingi

roleplay - omg, he has so much fun getting to play different characters and scenarios with you. he likes that he gets to experiment with different personas for himself and seeing different versions of you makes him want to bed each one.

quickies - when mingi gets the urge to have sex, he wants to have sex now. like it's physically painful for him to have to wait or ignore it. he likes having the kind of relationship where he can alert you to his needs and fuck one out really quick. he does some of his best work in these instances, tbh.

strip tease (receiving) - the way you slowly stripping just for him makes him feel so special and wanted. he'll have the biggest smile on his face and the stiffest erection in his pants.

choking (giving) - i don't think he'd even know he has this kink until you mention it to him. he doesn't want to hurt you, but he only has to try it once and see that you're perfectly alive and well to want to do it again and again. once he gets comfortable with it, he will choke tfff out of you too, if you want him to.

overstimulation (receiving) - he lowkey but highkey loves when you take the control from him and make him a moaning, pathetic mess. it's incredibly easy to overstimulate him and every time you do it, he feels like he floats out of his body by the end.

wooyoung

spit kink - he just gets so fucking cocky about the fact that you'd let him do something so "nasty" as spitting in your mouth. it's an easy way for him to constantly prove your devotion to him to himself. every time you willingly open your mouth to accept his spit, he knows you're not going anywhere. doesn't love the idea of you spitting into his mouth in theory, but will occasionally succumb to it when he's really desperate.

mutual masturbation - he looooves a lazy, playful session where you're seated on opposite ends of the couch, watching each other get off. neither of you has to do too much work and he can make all the teasing remarks he wants because his mouth isn't otherwise occupied.

filming - he films more for the art of it than for any sexual reason. however, once again, he likes that you let him film you. he loves how you let him position you this way and that and follow whatever he says so he can get the best shots.

intoxicated sex - whether it's alcohol or something else, wooyoung loves to have sex when you're both fucked up. it's always messy, unorganized, and spontaneous. just how he likes it.

degradation - this isn't the first time we've talked about wooyoung's degradation kink on this blog, but i'd be remiss to not include it. he likes talking shit to you and he likes it when you talk shit back. it will arouse him quickly every time, and it won't stop until you're both too busy catching your breath to speak.

jongho

thigh riding - discovers this kink when you're extremely needy one day and take to attending to that need yourself–on his thigh, of course. he enjoys watching you satisfy yourself so much that he will sometimes tell you to just use his thigh when you come to him all needy. watches with hearts in his eyes.

guided masturbation - this usually happens on a video call. he will be completely clothed, just sitting in his desk chair, while he tells you how to take off your clothes for him and how to touch yourself for him. he's so casual about it that it makes you want to get a reaction out of him, but he'll maintain his composure. at least until he gets his hands on you next.

make up sex - unlike you might think, jongho doesn't like make up sex because it's desperate and intense and the like. he actually really likes it because he uses it as a time to show you how much he loves you. it's very soft, slow, and focused on you. the intimacy is unmatched.

teasing - jongho loves to go through a very normal day with you, casually dropping suggestive words or lingering touches in a place that's just barely appropriate. does it all so coolly that no one else is the wiser, but you're dying.

watching porn together - he'll use this time to discover new things you're into, but his favorite part is when you can't handle it anymore and have to have him. you're so cute when you're crawling on top of him and begging him to touch you.

#i almost fucking killed myself writing yunho's GOD #also i can't help but notice that all the kinks i picked for jongho are so focused on his partner #that man dgaf about his own pleasure fr /hj #anyway sorry it took me three thousand years to write this #th: ateez #ateez smut #ateez kinks #kpop smut #kpop kinks

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darkacademicvibes · 1 year ago

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Hellooo! So I know you haven't posted in ages and you're probably busy or maybe not writing anymore but if you are and your requests are open... can you maybe do something for Theodore nott? If you don't write for him then maybe Barty Jr. Or Regulus or something?

Basically fem!reader is insecure and brings it up and he doesn't understand so she asks is they even love her anymore and they somehow propose right then and there? Like really tearful, and he's so hurt but he's also kind of blank about it idk and she says yes obvs, but he just doesn't know how to feel about what she asked?

Thankyouthankyouuuuu and if you aren't writing anymore that's totally understandable 🩵🩵🩵🩵

AHHHH YESSS I TOTALLY CAN BABES!!!

I'm always gonna write on this blog, lately I've really been trying to figure out my page and stuff and I just got done with exams so I've been busy, I'm sorry!!! I HOPE this lives up to expectations, I've never written an argument/yelling that turned to a proposal lmao <3

Look At Me

tw: cursing, idk I like it, he's very much sweater Theo lmao, nothing really to be honest with you

"-God, Theo, it's like you're never here anymore!" You huff, busying yourself with the dishes of a dinner you ate alone, again. The sound of his name instead of the nickname you'd always called him made him flinch. Theodore Nott had been your boyfriend since the beginning of your seventh year at Hogwarts, and you'd fought together in the war on Harry's side. Or, McGonagalls side, as Theo preferred to call it.

After Hogwarts, you'd moved in together which you'd defended to your parents as convenience. And his, well, his mother got ill quick, and then got better, and then ill again, and she'd eventually found out after he'd invited her over to make sure she was okay, and you'd come home to your boyfriends mother on the couch having tea. You'd easily slipped into comfortable conversation with your loving boyfriend and his (absolutely wonderful) mother and she'd guessed it by morning when you'd made everyone pancakes as you'd been woken up early by Theo on his way to quiddich practice.

Lately, however, he'd been home less. In fact, it began at the beginning of the year, while it is now November. You celebrated your third year anniversary of fully owning the house (thanks to his family money's help) and as that morning when you woke up, he was gone, he came home giddy, and then that night, went to bed nervous. And things hadn't been the same. You'd marked that night on your calander once you realized that was the last afternoon before anything changed.

April 4th.

Since then, he'd barely be at home, which isn't saying a lot seeing as he was a professional player for the Montrose Magpies and sometimes was forced to be away for day practices that led well until you'd gone to bed and weekend games that you always made sure to see.

He'd started getting up earlier, and going to bed either well before, or well after you. When you were wide awake, or fast asleep. Sometimes, he'd sleep in the guest room downstairs, instead.

He'd stopped with the casual kisses everytime he left the room, no longer pressing kisses to your temple, cheek, nose, shoulder, or head, and started passing by in silence, answering requests with hums, grunts, and nods. Your brother had joked he was finally going through the 'I hate my girlfriend' phase, but quickly shut up when you'd choked out a strangled breath that sounded like you'd taken a bludger to the stomach.

The thought hasn't left your mind since.

"I'm here now" Theo presses, standing behind the kitchen island, his hands braced firmly on the edges of the bench, gripping tightly. You scoff, scrubbing the pan harshly. Who invented pans that weren't non-stick? You wanted to hit them with your pan, your pan that now had bits of food and grease stuck to it.

"Theo this is the eighth night in a row I've had to put your dinner in the microwave" you give up on the pan, abandoning it on the bench and moving on to the pot you'd made the potatoes in. It was your day off, and Theo was supposed to be home at four, so you'd made a full dinner for you to eat together. A mistake, you now realized, as you didn't eat until seven when your food had already gone cold, and he hadn't come home until nine, when you'd usually do the dishes. He did them right after dinner for some unexplainable reason you didn't quite understand. Through, you were the one who grew up with supper. So you always made it and did dishes after.

"I told you not to count on me being home on time, bambino" he breathes, and you sniff, wiping your nose on the back of your wrist. He had, yesterday, but not today. "I wrote it down and left it on the kitchen counter-" a soft mew interrupts him, and you listen to the sound of him scooping up the neighbors cat.

"Pie, you shouldn't be here, your mama will be looking for you" you coo, glancing back at the soft, light brown cat. "She can stay" Theodore murmurs, cuddling the cat close. A pang of anger flashed through your stomach. That cat was getting more affection from your boyfriend then you'd gotten for most of the year. "No, she can't" your voice is snappy, and he sighs, kissing the top of Pies head and opening the back door, placing Pie outside and closing the door again before leaning against the wood, watching you.

"I don't understand what I've done to make you so upset, amore" he murmurs, and you snap, tossing the potato pot and the rag into the sink, taking off the ridiculous yellow gloves and tossing them onto the bench.

"You are never here, Theo" you insist. "And you go god knows where, because you weren't at practice tonight" you continue, when Theo opens his mouth to argue, you glare at him. Your voice shakes, and that makes you angrier. "No! You weren't, I called Peter, he was at home with his wife and baby son at four fifteen" you snap, and hurt flashes in his eyes. You want to apologize, but you haven't done anything wrong, not that you're aware of. You have suffered, for months, wondering what you'd done wrong. You didn't understand. You don't understand.

"So where were you? Were you with someone else, someone you can stand? Because it's pretty clear you can't stand me anymore" you toss your hands up, abandoning the gloves as you return to cleaning the dishes as Theo makes his way closer, returning to the island counter as you ramble on.

"If you were then just tell me and be done with it, because this wondering, the guessing, the hoping you aren't, the subconsciously looking for proof that you have been, is killing me" you ramble on.

"It is absolutely tearing me apart to think you don't love me anymore, trying to find reasons that would have you pulling away because surely, if you don't love me then you'd leave me, right? Except, I don't know, I don't know what I did-" you place the pot aside and start working on your plate. His is still in the microwave. "-I can't figure it out. Tell me what I did wrong, because I can't keeping going like this for much longer" you sniffle, and the sound has the guilt already drowning him shove him down deeper.

"I mean, do you even love me anymore? Because it really just seems like you're sticking around for convenience" You manage to mumble, your voice shaking as tears prick harshly at your eyes. You try blinking them back, but you have to harshly wipe your cheek with the back of your arm as the feeling of a few hot tears warm your cheeks.

A soft click sound from behind you and in your confusion, you turn, pausing at the sight. Theo is leaning heavily against the counter, his shoulders tense as the small dark blue velvet box sits open on the table.

A delicate gold ring, with agate as the stone sits undisturbed in the box, and you can feel your breath escape you because it is beautiful.

"I was afraid you would say no" he admits, gazing at you through his dark lashes you'd frequently voiced that you were jealous of. "I was afraid you'd say no, and I pulled myself away from you, and I'm sorry for not noticing how it affected you" he breathes. Almost as breathless as you.

He slowly rounds the island, gently stopping to stand beside you.

His hands land on your waist, delicate. "ragazza dolce, how could you ever doubt my feelings for you?" He murmurs, his thumbs rubbing gently over the skin of your hips. The touch makes you pause and, slowly, you melt against his chest. "You haven't touched me like this since April fourth" you start softly, gaze still on the ring, and he tenses beside you.

Fuck, you'd actually remembered the date he held you last? He knew it had been a while, he had felt horrible about his nerves pulling him away from you, but you'd memorized the fucking date he'd last touched you, and it was so much longer then he'd thought.

"You barely answer me anymore, I start every conversation, and it's either tense, or it falls through so fast i-" you hesitate. "It makes me feel like you don't see the point in talking to me anymore" his heart shattered, he could hear it, feel it- you'd felt so horrible, miserable even, and it was his fault. He'd been so wrapped up in how he felt that he hadn't even noticed you'd been miserable. Lonely.

"I'm sorry, mio caro, I'm so sorry" he murmurs, pained, his lips brushing the crook of your neck gently.

His hands gently guide you to face him, and you allow him to lift your hands, drying them off gently. "C'mon sunshine, I'm sorry, look at me" he murmurs, gently tucking his forefinger under your chin to guide you to meet his eyes. "I have been so nervous that I started pulling away, and I am so sorry you felt this way, sweet girl, I promise I love you" he assures you gently, watercolour eyes gazing into yours deeply.

"There has never been, nor will there ever be, anyone else. You are it for me, you are my Andromeda, I'm your Perseus, remember?" He pleads softly, reminding you of the last time you'd been in Hogwarts.

The astronomy tower would probably crumble if you stood in the wrong spot, still, you (almost) fearlessly ventured closer to the calm figure leaning against the wall of the castle, not for one second, caring that he was sitting in rubble. Gazing at the stars. He smiles at you as you stand beside him, and he offers you his hand, which you take as he helps you to sit beside him safely.

"Feel up to stargazing, my love?" He murmured, and you smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as his hand rests easily on your thigh, rubbing gently despite the dust-covered fabric in the way of your skin. "Always" you hum. He huffs a soft laugh and sighs warmly. "You remember those stars?" He asks softly, pointing out the constellation, and you nod against his shoulder. Andromeda and Perseus, the chained maiden and her lover. Her savior. Her husband, in entirety. They'd been so in love they were placed in the stars so their love would never end.

"Yeah, I remember, it's your favourite myth" he smiles, and he presses a soft kiss to your head, smiling himself. You'd remembered it was his favourite.

"If I was Perseus, you'd be my Andromeda" he murmurs, and you smile softly, melting into him. "If I was Andromeda, you'd be my Perseus" you retort gently, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as shouts of names, and calls of joy fill the night air.

The war is over. All is well.

"My father is dead" Theo hums. The way he says it was almost as if he'd simply noticed the time and pointed it out. He found more empathy for the roadkill the two of you had come across two weeks ago, a rabbit that had been hit by a carriage.

"I saw. Are you okay?" You ask gently.

"Yeah, I'm okay, as long as I have you, I'll always be more than okay" he hums, chuckling softly. "My mother will be okay now, she's safe" he sighs, the tension leaving him slightly.

"She is, Teddy" you smile, and as he wraps his arm around you to pull you impossibly closer, you both gaze at the sky and you do what you do best together.

You talk, and you stargaze.

You nod slowly, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he sighs softly in relief, his thumb swiping the tears away gently.

"I love you, so much. I'm sorry I let myself get in my head, I should've realized I was hurting you" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your hairline as he tucks a few strands behind your ear, his fingers trailing down your neck, then your shoulder, all the way to your hand, where he links your fingers together.

"Teddy, are you asking me to marry you?" You murmur softly, eyes gazing softly at the ring again. He hums, "will you say yes?" He murmurs softly, his thumb brushing against yours.

"I can't imagine a world where I'd consider saying no" you breathe, and you can feel his lips tug into a giddy smile against your temple. He pulls away, only enough to reach the ring, and gently hums.

"Look at me, bellissimo"

Your eyes meet his and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the familiar softness of it almost making you swoon.

"Will you, the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on, make me the absolute happiest man alive, and do me the honor of making me your husband?" He asks quietly, his lips brushing yours gently.

You smile, and nod softly, "that's a yes from me" you hum, "a big, fat, yes" you laugh, and he chuckles along with you, gazing softly at you as he slowly slips the ring onto your finger. "Good, now give me a big, fat, kiss" he demands playfully "I miss kissing my fiancé" he murmurs, and it sets off fireworks in your stomach.

You lean up and press a big, fat, kiss to his lips, just like he asked.

You giggle as he wraps his arms around you happily, tugging you closer and tapping your hip in the all too familiar signal to jump. You wrap your legs around him and he kisses you harder, his hands under your thighs.

"I have a lot to make up for" he mumbles, making his way into the living room and dropping you gently onto the couch, pulling a giggle from you.

"Remind me to tell Draco not to sit on this couch next time he comes over" you tease, and he laughs, loud, and happy, and the sound has you melting.

You have your Theo back, and he's not your boyfriend anymore, he's more, and you couldn't be happier.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott imagines #theo nott x y/n #theo nott #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #second wizarding war #slytherin boys #slytherin #fem reader #female reader #femreader x Theodore Nott #proposal

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thatdeadaquarius · 1 month ago

Note

Hello ^^ r u alive??

Yes actually!

Shocking I know, but yall haven't heard from me bc I've been having a busy year.

TLDR: Moved out of homestate year after graduating college, working paycheck to paycheck now, while taking online class (still taking, ill be done mid january), got hit by Hurricane Helene like 6 months? After moving here, and have been recovering from that while also maintaining job/class.

(It was like Katrina but for this area, bc they were unprepared for hurricanes here)

Have had No time yo work on my hobbies really, and if anyone remembers by now, ive been working on a followup fic for the eldritch reader sagau one shot from,, last year? Idk anymore, point is!

I wanted yo write it all out then make just post the chapters one after another so u guys wouldn't be waiting months on next update (like my Players Possessions fic rn 😔)

But, ive barely had any time to myself, and I usually have been filling it with my class or living my life, or other hobbies, so on top of busy life I've been unmotivated bc I've had to force myself to make time and write it out

(I'm deadass fighting for my life against my fic writing style, which i guess is pretty long winded, so the word count is like,, tied me to a car and is dragging me tf out lol)

So im still working on that fic, so that way I can post all at once,

I also feel very bad for you guys who've left asks and im very slow, so they're pretty old now and I felt bad answering them so long after you asked :/

Ill probably still be posting them eventually, but just wanted to let you guys know im alive and very sorry about not doing your asks for forever (years atp??) /gen

(Also ive had like, no time since Fontaine let alone Natlan to even play Genshin LMAO, which makes writing about the new characters kinda hard obv lol)

Thanks for checking in, sorry for the word dump!!

Here's to a (hopefully) more active deadaquarius blog next year!! 🫠🎉🥂

Safe Travels, happy holidays, and if I dont see you, happy new year!!

💀♒️

#aqua chats #genshin sagau #<3 #ty for the ask checkin #wasnt sure of a good time to update yall #hope u had good holidays and winter is treatinf yall better than me lol #happy early new year as well #:>

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winniefrezcomics · 24 days ago

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THE FAIRY DALE POST

(Credit to @zennyzach / @perisprinkles for this certified banger)

Hi what’s up hello, decided to do this separately from the previous question so it would be easier for those who want to avoid it to do so dndbdhdhdjdjbh

to all the Dale fans out there, I’m sorry to admit that I am not among you- as much as I appriciate what an accurate depiction of an emotionally abusive parent he is, I am NOT manifesting a redemption arc for his ugly ass, and hope that Dev gets to stand up to him in a BIG way in the shows future 🥰

Anyway: Is Dale Still a shoddy father in the Fairly normal Parents AU?-

YES. He’s WORSE, actually!! ☠️

Trust me when I say the read-more is necessary here- PLEASE read the content warnings before deciding to proceed- covering fairy Dale and Fairy Devs relationship requires me breaking away from the wholesomeness of the rest of the AU to cover some darker topics-

CONTENT WARNINGS: dalepreg, mild NSFW text, unwanted pregnancy, references to pregnancy termination, emotional abuse, parental neglect, manipulation, unhealthy parental relationships, Dale Dimmadome in general

Okay, with that out of the way-

One important thing to note about my swap au is that, in the time period the ask blog takes place, ALL the faires are adults! Which I point out only to explain why, at this point in the story, Dev has ALREADY had his gigantic falling out with his father (that’s, tbh, pretty similar to the one I like to think HUMAN Dev eventually has in my personal hc timeline for him) SO YEAH, Dev and his father are currently NOT on speaking terms, and he really dislikes talking about him (Perry has never so much as learned Dale’s NAME. He’s that secretive about it after storming out and getting cut off, but I’m getting ahead of myself snsbdbdbd)

SO, TO START AT THE BEGINNING- Something I have yet to discuss in the ask blog bc we aren’t far enough in the plot yet for Dev to openly speak about magic (yes, plot ☠️) is the fact that Poof’s role as the “first fairy baby in a thousand years” actually belongs to FOUR faries in the swap AU- Dev, Hazel, Winn and Jasmyn!

(Aaand maybe some other kids from ANW too, it’s not carved in stone yet how many characters this includes 🤷)

The reason that so many fariy babies were born at ONCE- (inciting PURE CHAOS in fairyworld, I’m sure) is due to an anti-magical comet passing over fairyworld (which I have not yet worked out the name and specifics of, yall will have to give me til Hazel arrives to get THERE sbdbxjshdjdjjdd 😂)

BASICALLY the anti-comet, unbeknownst to anyone, weakened and warped the magic spell in place that prevented fairy babies from being possible-

-go ahead and assume this middle part for yourself lmao-

Once the pregnancies start making themselves know. FOR THE MOST PART fairy couples are ECSTATIC to learn that they’re expecting- and because the comet violated nothing in Da Rules, they were ALL allowed to keep thier miracle babies (don’t ask abt Antony wheeze, I’m still thinking abt it tbh 😂)

So all of fairyworld is abuzz with excitement about all the expecting miracle parents… with the exception of one. Dale ‘Day-breaker’ Dimmadome, owner of the corporation that runs most of fairyworld, and the LAST FAIRY ALIVE that should have been entrusted with caring for a child, has also found himself expecting (don’t ask me how it happened lmfao, let’s just say “partied too hard in fairly Las Vegas” and leave it at that ☠️☠️☠️)

Needless to say, Dale was NOT on board with the idea of being pregnant, giving birth, OR raising a baby, so he has the AU pairs research every possible solution to the ‘problem’ right away, and keeps his pregnancy a secret for as long as possible.

However, all of that changed when the future visions started. They were mild, at first- just strangely frequent moments of Deja vu in Dales day to day life running his company, and strangely accurate dreams every now and then. BUUT as Dev continued to develop and grow, the visions got clearer and clearer, until Dale finally got fed up and went to see a fairy fortune teller, who informed him that his unborn baby must be the source of the prophetic dreams, and they would only get more powerful with time. Even in his fetal state, other clairvoyants Dale went to see could tell- DEV was going to be a VERY powerful one.

Okay so here’s where the “eugh” REALLY starts for me- (if it hasn’t started for u already screams)

Once Dale realized how USEFUL the future visions were, he decided to halt his research, and carry the baby to term, so that he could continue to have the visions, as he considered them an advantage while expanding his corporation.

Much to Dales dismay however, the SECOND the baby is BORN, Dale loses the clairvoyance ENTIRELY, buuuut now that Dale knows he has something to GAIN from doing so, he decides he DOES want to raise this child, so that it can be of use to him in the future (tho by “raise” I of course mean “make the AU pairs raise ☠️☠️)

I don’t have a drawing of them yet, but fun fact, fairy Dev was raised by two au pairs (the AU’s pixie equivalent) that are based on his drones from ANW- their ‘names’ are technically just strings of numbers, but Dev nicknamed his two servants/gaurdians/weird robotic gay dads “silver” and “Gold” 🥈🥇

I’ll infodump on them too if anyone asks abt em, but this is the Dale post wheeze, back to the horrors-

Dev grows up barley knowing his father, but slowly gets more and more demanding of his fathers attention with time, desperately wanting to form a relationship with him. Eventually, Dale relents, allowing Dev to spend much of his time by his father’s side, almost like a teeny tiny advisor or smthn? Baby Dev couldn’t be happier, but Unfortunately, it’s Dale, so ofc he had ulterior motives. basically as SOON as Dev was able to talk, Dale began to constantly ask if he had had any new visions, even getting dev private magic/ fortune telling/ clairvoyance lessons, to try and hone his child’s skills as much as possible as quickly as possible.

At first Dev thinks nothing of how hyper-focused Dale is on his future-seeing powers, and is just happy to be included and close to his dad for once. He’s more than happy to have visions for him, recounting them with excitement, and delighting in the praise whenever his insight was considered “legitimately helpful”

However, as time went on, and Dev gained the context of meeting the OTHER fairy kids and thier families, he couldn’t help but slowly start to question his fathers “parenting methods” - if you could even call them that ☠️☠️

(Hazel Wishingwell heard a rumor about a secret fairy child being spotted on a balcony of the Dimmadome building, so she, Winn and Jasmyn went to investigate! WIP of a comic I’ll finish eventually. maybe. probably.

poor dev lived a very Elsa-esque, isolated life before he made three gremlin friends who started routinely “kidnapping” him from his damn repunzel tower to have fun and hang out 🥺💕)

This ever-growing sense of unease continues to eat at kid Divination, and part of him starts to wonder if his dad really DOES only care about his powers like his friends say he does…

they are all. horrified. To learn how little attention and affection Devs father gives him. ESPECIALLY because the three of them have incredibly loving parents that have been calling them “miracles” and “gifts” thier whole lives, while Dale has basically done nothing but COMPLAIN to dev about how HARD it was to carry him for all those months, especially when he wants Dev to stop questioning him. ☠️

So one day, as an experiment, Dev LIES about his future vision. Since Dev realized there was no way for anyone else to witness and vouch for the accuracy of his vision-retelling, he decides to advise his father AGAINST the deal he was prodding Dev to see a prediction for, despite his vision clearly telling him that the partnership would be extremely profitable. Dev does this for a few reasons, but it’s a decision owed in no small part to the fact that, the more successful partnerships his dad is involved with at any given time, the less time he has to spend with his son (not that his “spending time with” involves much outside of Dev telling his dad his visions and Dale ignoring any non-biussness conversation his literal child tries to start with him 🙃)

This works for a while, with dev estatic to be getting to spend more time with his dad, even IF his mood is consistently terrible from having to back out of so many potential partnerships that he thought for SURE would work and be profitable, but it didn’t occur to him that his son may be LYING until one day, a partnership HE turned down BLOWS UP after pairing with a DIFFERENT company. When confronted, Dev immediately breaks down and comes clean, trying to defend himself by claiming he “just wanted to spend more time with him”.

Dale is BEYOND un-moved by the sentiment, and swiftly bans dev from his office and advisor council, seeing very little of him for most of devs teen years (tho of course they pass by and interact now and then, Dale goes out of his way to steer clear of Dev is his “emotionally volatile state” or whatever)

Once Dev is a young adult however, Dale makes him an offer for how Dev can once again be useful to thier family business: since dev has been continuing to hone his magical abilities even in his fathers absence, by 17/18 he’s quite the skilled clairvoyant, so Dale offers to instate him as an offical employee of the Dimmadome corporation, and have him offer fortune telling services for a Hefty price.

Dev agrees, and it’s fine at first, but dev quickly realizes he HATES his job, and in addition, seeing into the future MULTIPLE TIMES A DAY was really starting to take a toll on both devs mental AND physical health (he started to struggle with migraines -hence the glasses- and near-constant dissociation episodes, to the point where dev often found himself disoriented and unsure if what he was seeing was real or a vision, if that makes sense?)

Dev eventually has enough, and works up the nerve to, at first politely, tell his father that he needs to quit his job. It takes dale and dev quite a bit of back and forth before Dale realizes the EXTENT to which dev is intending to quit (cold turkey) emotions rise steadily, until the attempted professional resignation has dissolved into a SHOUTING MATCH between a father and son

After dev SCREAMS every single thing he’s been holding back for YEARS into his fathers face, he storms off, and hasn’t been back since. Dev also indirectly trashed his office, because Devs magic reacts on its own when extreme emotions are at play (he gets the flaming hair thing from his dad tho dbdbdbendnd)

Current day dev actually isn’t SURE where he and his father stand, but he assumed it wasn’t good after all his credit cards stopped working, forcing him to take a job as a godparent to earn a living himself (Hazel was MORE than happy to drag him to godparenting school tho lmaoo)

SO YEAH THATS PRETTY MUCH IT

I miiiight make it canon that Dev and his dad reconcile and reconnect after Dev saves fairywolrd, but that’s getting into spoiler territory wheeze

TYSM for the question! Apologizes if this made anyone uncomfortable to read, but thanks for getting all the way down to the bottom of this ungoldly long ramble too lmaooo 🥺❤️

#bless yall for asking me stuff that gives me a reason to write these feral ass drabbles lmao #they’re a lot of fun tbh #and like I said in a previous post #despite having a LOT of the lore thought out for this AU #moooooost of it involves magic #so I’m gonna get the normaler questions out of the way before the inciting incident that kicks of set 2 #where the boys and dev will start more openly talking about fairies and magic #might have Ved cameo a few times too #love drawing that freakass lmao #mpreg #dale dimmadome #divination Dimmadome #ehhh I’m not gonna put this one in that tag bc it’s kind not sfw #this that SECRET lore 😂

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dulcewrites · 2 years ago

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Fool Me Once (part 10)

Summary: As tensions arise in King’s Landing, you make moves to assure the safety of your children. Final breaths are taken, pacts are made and broken, steel is drawn and the dragons dance.

Warning: mentions of stillbirths/pregnancy issues, allusions to self harm, some unreliable narrator if you squint. In our f&b bag fr!

A/N: you guys 🥺 we are finally on the last part. First, I want to say I am sooooo sorry about how long it took to get this one out. By the time I’m posting this I’m sort of like, do people even still care lmao 💀. Life has been hectic and tbh I’ve been putting some focus onto other things. Shameless plug to my other, more happy Aemond x oc series, on ao3. As well as I’ve gotten so much amazing feedback and interactions about this fic that I was slightly worried about how people would take the end. Speaking of feedback, and moving on to the more sappy stuff. My writing side blog has grown exuberantly since posting part 1 of fmo last year. It genuinely makes me emotional thinking about the little community that’s come from it. I hope to continue to make more stuff that I’m not only happy with, but further pushes said community ❤️❤️ if y’all have any hotd request let me know. Please reblog, like, and comment. As well as come chat in my inbox if you see something you like.

Slight housekeeping, though if you made it this far you probably already know. This fic does change the dance for self indulgent reasons (lol) and for the narrative of it all. This started as a cheating story and has sort of spun into something entirely else.

Fmo masterlist

Blog masterlist

Ninth moon of 129 AC

Rhaenyra’s voice could be heard from down the hall.

You wanted to reassure yourself that you had heard those screams before from Helaena, or even from yourself giving birth. But there was something so terribly guttural about the ones Rhaenyra was making.

As if outcome of the birth hung in the air. Lingering with the ghost of the past death that happened in the Red Keep. You try not to focus on the sheer look of panic on Jace’s face once you leave him at the door.

By the time you got to her chambers, Rhaenyra is already surrounded by midwives as she is hunched over, palms spread out against the wall. Midwives, and Alicent, whose face was terribly pale. Almost as drained of color as Rhaenyra. Her normally straight blonde hair wavy and stuck to her forehead with the sheen of her own sweat.

Alicent spots you, and gets away from her position from around her. She pulls you over to the side, but before she can even speak you interrupt her. The midwives begin to move Rhaenyra from her standing position to on the bed.

“Has this happened before,” you watch as Rhaenyra pleas lessen and lessen, her state becoming more sedated than what is probably normal.

Alicent shakes her head. Her auburn curls had been released for the night from the tight updo they were in earlier.

“No, at least not the first three,” she swallows hard before coming closer to you. “I fear - I fear this labor may go awry. I think we need to make preparations for if…”

The words catch in the back of Alicent’s throat. She is here with Rhaenyra; she has always been with Rhaenyra. Even when they were at odds; two ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Two sides of the same coin, causalities of the cruel fate. You want to feel sorry her; knowing that she is watching a close… companion go through this, but your mind has been elsewhere since earlier that day.

“Your son has made preparations,” you cross your arms. “All of them actually.”

Alicent brows furrow in confusion, and it dawns on you that Aemond and Aegon never clued their mother in on their little plan.

“You do not know, do you?”

“No, I do not know what your husband has been getting into. I rarely do these days.”

You and her both.

Rhaenyra lets out another groan.

“Where is Daemon,” you ask as Rhaenyra begins to mumble things incoherently to the midwives.

“He took one look at her, and left the room,” Alicent frowns. “She called for him but he went to get Jacaerys instead.”

And Jace came for you on the behest of Alicent. Tis the way of men you suppose. Often, they are absolute nuisance in situations like this, but you could not help but think that mayhaps if Daemon had stayed to seen her in this state, he would not put her through such things again. But that is giving him far more credit than you know he deserves.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra manages to mumble out the name louder. Her eyes fluttering open and shut.

Alicent instantly rushes over, dropping the conservation she has started with you.

As you watch Alicent coax Rhaenyra through this, her words ring out. Though she did not elaborate on what those plans should be, she was right. Aemond had taken the reigns from your hands plenty times before. Safety will not be completely ensured until any threat is taken out. You have never been to battle nor war, and even you know that. A slightly morbid thought creeps into your head.

If Rhaenyra dies, Aegon could descend the throne.

It was laughable for Rhaenyra, or anyone who supports her claim, to believe known bastards would follow her in the line of succession. Or that Daemon would not bypass Rhaenyra’s first three boy in order to ensure power for her last two. It would mean an all-out war between Aegon and Daemon… but maybe it did not have to go that far. Not if plans were made to undercut whatever moves you know Daemon could put into place.

They are all back in King’s Landing, no longer under the false tranquility they tried to spin at Dragonstone. Amongst their patrons who already have much to say about Rhaenyra’s still short reign.

Aegon on the throne would ensure the safety of all of the kids. And not only the kids, but the kingdom as a whole. A war of succession, especially including dragons, would only bring destruction. Rhaenyra’s boys would have a chance to swear obeisance after Daemon is out of the way, and if not, their presence will not be needed. Bastard blood being spilt is nothing compared to the life your children.

They could go back to Dragonstone and live their lives out there with young Egg and Viserys. With the possibility of Daemon for a father, they would be better off for it.

Your thoughts are broken by the midwives telling Rhaenyra to try and push.

There was already a significant amounts of blood trailing where Rhaenyra had been. Her pushes do little to soothe the position she is in. In frustration and pain, eventually Rhaenyra, much to the chagrin of the midwives and Alicent, shoos them all away. Reaching down to pull the babe out herself.

Letting out an already grief-stricken scream as she does it.

The air is sucked from the room as a gush of blood rushes out of Rhaenyra, followed by a tiny body.

A tiny… silent body. Wrapped in scales and slightly deformed.

No one speaks as they watch Rhaenyra pick up the baby from between her legs and rocks it as if trying to lure it into crying, into breathing. But nothing comes. Just silence, and the aches of a daughter stuck in the self-fulfilling prophecy of a mother that is no longer around.

It is not proper nor lady-like, and you can hear your own mother’s voice in the back of your telling you how rude it is in a time like this, but you just turn and leave. Without a word or peep. Suddenly feeling sick you go back down the hall, back to your chambers. Ignoring Jace who calls your name out in confusion by the sudden silence coming from his mother’s room.

By the time you make it back to the room, Aemond had gotten himself ready for bed. Completely casual as if the events earlier meant nothing to him.

“What’s happened,” he notices your ashen face.

You take one look at your husband, you think of your children away in a place foreign to them, and the stillborn baby Rhaenyra clutched in her arms.

The bile comes up quick. So quick you barely make I to the basin on the other side of the room. The dry heaving reminds you that you barely ate anything today, too worried about the task at hand.

You flinch when you feel a cold hand on your back. Shrugging Aemond’s hand off, you turn head with a glare.

“You made your move,” you mutter. “I’ll give you that. But now we are going to this my way. And Aemond, so help me, a single hair on those kid’s heads is harmed and I am not with them, I burn it all to the ground, you with it.”

You don’t know how and when, but you would do it for them if it came to that. You’d do anything for their safety. It may be time for others to realize that.

— — —

Princess Visenya Targaryen is set on the pyre a day and a half later. A small swaddled body lit on fire once Rhaenyra croaked out the words. Syrax blowing a mighty flame to burn Rhaenyra’s only little girl.

She was advised to stay in bed. Though her outward physical ailments had started to heal, it was clear Queen Rhaenyra was sick. Pale skin still prickling with sweat despite the cool air outside, dark bags starting to form under her eyes as she leans gently against the cane she was given.

You stand next to Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon. The only warm you feel from the fire in front on you.

It was slightly shocking when Helaena came up to you before the funeral with guilt written over her soft features.

“I just had… a funny feeling about the kids being here. I’m sorry.”

She knew.

You were not happy about once again feeling like you’re on the outside looking in with people you are supposed to call family. At least Helaena had the decency to feel ashamed by the omission. The decency to apologize. Guilt and Aemond is laughable being in the same sentence, and Aegon had been avoiding you. A thing that has not happened in months. Helaena was always right about these things; the scary part is that you all never really knew till the outcome already happened.

You run your hand over your black mourning dress. Peering out from under your veil, you make eye contact with Daemon across the fire.

Normally mirth filled eyes, and folly written all over his face had been replaced by an emptiness that scared you. Often, you had felt the unearned confidence and ambition around you was just noblemen living up to an expectation put on by others around them. But a Daemon, already known for his rogue behavior, feeling emboldened by the death of his brother, daughter, and the newly weakened state of his wife, made you nervous.

Only compounded when you think about the conversation shared at Dragonstone. Your loyalty was not expected, but even demanded. You can’t help but wonder if the kids not being around has only put a fiercer target on your back, or even on theirs.

You look over at Aegon - messy hair, bored expression, purple circles under his eyes. But he is no worse for wear compared to Rhaenyra.

If it one thing you have learned since being around this family, it is appearances often make up for everything. Slap a smile and nice outfit on, and people tend to believe what they see versus what is underneath the surface.

The funeral ends, and you make a sharp beeline towards Otto.

“I need to run something past you.”

You rake your knuckles against Aegon’s door, and get reply in return. You do it again, this time with more vigor, slightly embarrassed at Ser Arryk just watching you pound away.

“He is in there,” you question, turning to him.

“The last time I checked, he was my lady.”

The last time he checked?

You supposed not ever sworn protector can be as diligent as Quinton, and not every subject can be well behaved.

“Aegon,” you knock once more.

Blowing out frustrated air through your mouth, you turn to go but the door eventually swings open.

His hair is crumpled on one side, shirt unbuttoned, and reeking of wine. It had not hit you that he may be with someone.

“If you are… predisposed, I apologize. I can come back”

A dopey grin breaks out of face, before he hitched the door open wider. “No one is with me. Oh, dovelet were you worried about that?”

You look over to see Arryk raise a brow at you. You push at Aegon, further annoyed. “Go.” Forcing him back into his chambers.

“Everyone is so touchy today.”

You were there, before the funeral, when Alicent fussed at him about going to it. About trying to look engaged, which he clearly did not. You think about the conversation you had with Otto in his office.

“He is not going to like it. He has long come to terms with not wanting to be king.”

“But his wants are of no concern to you now, are they?”

When put that way, you can’t help but feel a bit bad. But it is true. What Aegon wants right now means little to you. He will eventually learn to like it, and if not like it, he will learn to tolerate it. The way others have to tolerate their fate in life. We are all stuck in the same miserable cycle; the only difference is some of us will not be able to call ourselves King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“We need to talk about some things.”

“Black is one your colors,” he changes the subject. “You should wear it more often.”

“Aegon, I’m serious,” you pinch your nose.

“Is this about the kids? I thought you would be happy they are out of harm’s way.”

“They are not out of harm’s way,” your voice raises, and this is not going the way it was supposed to.

You must push him with a gently hand. A woman’s touch.

There was a something slimy about how Otto ended the conversation. Sending you to Aegon to enact a woman’s touch… whatever that meant.

“But they could be,” you lower your voice. “If - If there was someone else at the helm. None of us would have to worry about their safety. About our safety.”

Aegon give you a funny look before flopping down on his bed.

He is drunk so he may not remember any of this by next morning. You sit next to him on the bed.

“There is no running from this. Despite what you may say, you know you would not be able to live with yourself if you left your family, your kids. Aegon, you are too smart not to know what this is all coming to.”

Though not something you voiced yourself, running was an option that crossed your mind. Finding a way out to Oldtown, grabbing your kids, and running. The logistics seemed all to wash away when the word dragon comes along. Traveling with two young kids would be difficult enough, managing to travel discretely with a giant dragon would not work. You don’t know how you would tell Daella to leave Vermithor.

And then a chill would run up your spine. Where could you go where he would not find you on dragon back?

The two of you sit in silence before Aegon sighs softly.

“Share a drink with me,” Aegon whispers. “Before we all die.”

It makes you laugh. Because that is all you can do at the folly that is your life. You nod softly.

The wine is a Dornish Red. Sweet, warm, and sultry tasting drink. It reminds you of the look Aegon is giving you.

Alicent peaks her head into the door.

“Rhaenyra,” she sees baby Aegon and Viserys sitting on their mother’s bed. Both babbling away over each other. Rhaenyra weakly waves her in. Both Egg and Viserys give Alicent tiny little bows. They do it to everyone, even those who technically do not have the same amount of power toddlers do. Bowing at guards, nursemaids, and court members alike.

The boys are eventually escorted out by one of the maids, but not until they both tell Alicent about the flock of lizards they found in the garden. It’s sweet, Alicent thinks. Reminds her of when her kids were that age. Not yet tainted or disrupted by the life around them. Alicent supposes she also has herself to blame for that when it comes to own children.

Both boys not understanding the position their mother is in. She knows that Rhaenyra is grateful at least two of her kids are not aware of her vulnerable state.

“How are you feeling,” Alicent sits at the edge of the bed next to her, taking in scattering of notes around Rhaenyra. Members of Rhaenyra’s small council have written notes for Rhaenyra to read while she is abed. From things as simple as the mouse problem in the Red Keep to things more serious. Like the Shepherd’s continued teachings; this week sermon’s going as far to say the death of the Visenya was an act of the Gods. That this is Rhaenyra’s punishment. Punishment for the dragon, the incest, the Targaryen of it all.

Alicent makes sure to only visit Rhaenyra when she knows she will not run into Daemon. He flaunted around the castle as if he has never left. Still the same air of arrogance and fire, only now swathed under a layer of coolness. The passing of Viserys, clearly leading him in a quieter path.

So many awful things lead back to that man. Alicent is sure of it.

All Rhaenyra can do is give a small smile and the shake of the head.

“A bit better now that you’re here.”

Alicent just ducks her head shyly.

Rhaenyra was always good at that, making Alicent feel like she was a girl again. Ten and four and completely out of her depth when it came to her feelings. An issue she worries she still has not gained control over.

“I am thinking of naming Daemon protector of the realm,” she then croaks out. “I do not know how much I can get done while in this bed. Watching it all crumble beneath me.”

Naivety. It is the only word that comes Alicent’s mind when it comes to how Rhaenyra handles Daemon. Ironically, it is the same way Otto describes her relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father never forgets a chance the remind her the nostalgia of girlhood, and security she wraps in Rhaenyra. The same way Alicent does not know if Rhaenyra has convinced herself that Daemon’s will head her council above anyone’s else is her true feelings, is the same way Alicent does not know if she holds onto the good parts of Rhaenyra because they still exist. Or because without holding onto them, she would be again flailing and alone. Once again left with the cold, empty feelings that comes with duty above else.

The only person Alicent saw ever cut Daemon down to size is now dead, rotting and finally silent. If Rhaenyra thinks the bond, she had with Daemon is anything more than him trying to hold onto the last semblances of Viserys he could find, she has been sorely mistaken.

“Mayhaps, you should speak that over with the rest of your council,” she pushes the duvet further over Rhaenyra. It is not her job to advise. She doesn’t know if she has it in her advising another clueless monarch. Another seemingly well meaning, but headstrongly clueless monarch. Rhaenyra gets her same propriety from her father.

Rhaenyra is not a bad person. The same way many people would say Viserys was not a bad person. But when all things are said and done, Viserys will be remembered as peaceful. Alicent worries history will not give the same charitable read to Rhaenyra. Who fumbles and doubles down on her bad actions in the way she learned from her father. Terribly misguided in each path they take, paying no mind to the carnage left behind.

Too much trust in Daemon. A fault both will have to live with or die by.

“Everything will be fine, once I recover,” she takes note of Alicent’s distant eyes. “It will be alright.”

You look so much like your father when you lie to me. So much like him with false hope and no tact. They riot in the streets over your reign already, and you are sure it will be alright.

Alicent just squeezes Rhaenyra’s hand. The way she used to when she used to get the urge to pick at her hands. She looks around the room. Rhaenyra, now laying in the same bed her father did before her. Alicent just hopes the morbid memories of Viserys do not haunt her in the way Aemma’s ghost still haunts Alicent to this day.

Aemma was right, and they did not even know it at the time. The birthing bed was their battlefield. And it feels like it is all catching up to them.

It has been a few minutes since your parents welcomed you into their parents, and in those few minutes your mother has done nothing but pick at your hair and fret over your outfit.

The sun was at its height in the sky, brightness peaking through their windows. This morning you woke up, and did what have for the past couple of days. Remember your children are not there for you to kiss and hug, and look over at your sleeping husband. Multiple ways of smothering him popping into your head.

“Wearing your hair back makes you look so severe, my darling,” she fiddles with bun. Your hand goes up the move it way. “And grey is not slimming on everyone.”

“Yes mother,” you try to grin and bear like you have always done. Your resolve faltered when she gushed about how lovely of a father Aemond was for wanting the kids to spend more time with their uncle, the excuse the both of you had parroted whenever someone asked here Daella and Alaric were.

“I think it may be best, if both of you go back home,” you sit both of them down. “I just worry that things may get a bit hectic, and I would feel better if you both were far from it.”

They both give you a curious look. There is only so much you can say without giving all away. Your father gets up and pulls you to the side.

“There has been… rumblings,” he mutters. “About the Queen and her state.”

He chooses his words wisely. As if he was worried others are listening.

“I want you to know that whatever path may arrive. The full backing of the house is behind it. Your uncle and I will make sure of that. If there was a change in power.”

Tears pinch and sting your eyes. It should be reassuring but it only makes you realizing that backing comes at the whim of others. This will always come back to who is ruling, and who people think should rule.

That is why you married Aemond right? To be put in the best position for your house.

“Thank you, father.”

He kisses you on the cheek, before leaving. You turn towards your mother who sits on the bench in front of the bed.

“I do hope your little excursion has renewed your spirit,” she gets up. “Your husband seemed just beside himself after you left. No wife, no children around. I can only imagine how hard that was for him.” You just stand there as she comes towards you. She stares at you for a moment, taking in your new dark dress, and hair. You cannot tell if the look is unimpressed, or filled with sadness. Your mother’s faces tend to blur together into nothingness.

“Of course, that is what you took from it,” you mutter.

“What was that, lamb?” Another hand runs over your hair.

“Nothing, mother.”

Your mother laughs a bit, in that cold, jilted way she does. The joy never reaching her eyes.

“It’s always been that way. Sweet with him, distant with me.”

You stare at her in slight shock, slight mortification when she leans back. Is that how she’s read the situation? You choosing your father over her. Not the paralyzing fear that came with having to please her. The heart arching want to make her proud of you, even at the expense of your own wants.

“You made it that way. I - you sent me away to - to this place and -“

“Oh, here we go. You got married to a Prince, you had your babies, and I am still the evil mother.”

She bows her head as is she about to cry. Initiatively, you put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not evil,” you don’t understand how the conversation how switcher so fast. How now you have to the one to comfort her. “We just don’t see certain things the same way.”

An understatement.

“Mayhaps, I was never meant to be a mother,” she looks up, eyes dry. She says it so casually.

“What?”

“I should have taken the hint after the first miscarriage. But your father just begged and begged about wanting a child.”

You just watch in horror.

She runs another hand over your hair, nagging on the bun and frowns.

“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. Too headstrong for it, too weak for it,” there is an air of pity when she says it.

She leans in, and her breath hits your ears. “Be careful, my lamb. The softer the heart, the harder the fall.”

You swallow hard. She’s fed a poison that is hard to be weaned off.

— — —

Leaving the room, in a slight daze. Softly shuffling the opposite way of your chambers, and up the large stairs. You had promised Rhaenyra you would come see her soon.

The only thing that breaks you out the trance is the heavy footsteps of Daemon. You stop and lower your head in acknowledgment.

“My prince, I have not been able to catch you to give my condolence.”

Daemon hums. You’ve noticed how he walks around with Dark Sister attached firmly on his hip. Sometimes sheathed, other times unsheathed as he leans against as some sort of crutch.

“I suppose I should be sending you sorrows too,” a small smile on his face. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Your children.”

Your blood runs a bit cold.

“They are just with their uncle. Taking it the beauty of Oldtown. We want them to see many parts of the realm.”

“With Vermithor?”

You just nod. “You must know how important the bond is between dragon and dragon rider. More importantly during these early stages.”

Daemon’s mirth grows as he comes closer. “I do remember our conversation. About how your loyalty would be not only expected but rewarded. I would absolutely hate to see anyone get hurt, especially as our queen is recovering.”

You smile, brightly and sound.

“Of course, it would be quite a shame if anyone was putting their own needs ahead of Queen Rhaenyra’s. Those close to her must be diligent, and kind.”

The two of you exchange more fake smiles before he steps around you, sword glistening under the flicker of flames in the hallway.

Trying to compose yourself as you make your way to the master chambers. You are slightly relieved by the changes that were made by the time Rhaenyra arrived and settled in. The model Viserys spent even his last days speaking about that collected dust had been removed. Different drapes that let the sun in, the furniture moved around a bit, and the smell. Thank Gods, the smell was different.

The smell of rotting, and noxious air replaced by something a little sweeter. You know that Alicent would come in daily and light different incense for Rhaenyra.

The guards let you in, and she is still in the same place she, day after day, the large canopy bed. The bed you see Viserys lay in as you visit him with Daella and or Alaric.

“Rhaenyra,” you pull back the certain a bit, to let light in. “Have you eaten today?”

You walk over and lay a hand on her forehead. She is burning up. Her fever spiking again. All you get is a groan and the shake of the head.

“Rhaenyra, you need to eat something.”

She just gestures toward the table. Different tonics, drinks, and glasses on top of it. You walk over to see tea as well as a familiar milky substance on it.

You remembered seeing how Viserys was when he was on milk of the poppy. Hells, you understood the strength of it, and you only took it while having Daella and Alaric.

It was the beauty and ugliness of the drug once it was taken too much. The pain was gone, but then came a new problem - the grogginess of the mind and withdrawals.

“The Queen only needs five dops of it,” said the maester, a sour look on his face once asked to leave when you visited her a few days ago.

In all her paranoia, Rhaenyra had asked only those closest to her to help administer it. Not trusting the maesters the very same way she did when it came to Viserys. Out of part guilt of what she just went through, and frankly fear, you agreed when she asked you. But now, as you feel the tides changing once again for the battle for power, your hands shake a bit applying the remedy to her tea.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five….. Six. Seven. Eight.

Before you can change your mind, you a twist cap back on the milk of the poppy.

You walk back to the bed, giving a pale Rhaenyra a strained smile. “Let’s sit you up.”

Rhaenyra winces, eyes in a faraway stare as you help her lean up in the bed. The same bed she had been beholden to for the past week. You bring goblet to her lips and watch her all but chug most of it.

A part of you wants to say a prayer to the Father. Perhaps he will forgive you for all that will happen beyond this point. Understanding how stray animals often act when they are backed into a corner. Teeth bared and fighting for their lives.

She will name him Protector of the Realm if she stays abed any longer. Despite the mistreatment, Daemon has always had a way about him when it came to Rhaenyra. I have no way to stop it. Did not back then, and do not now.

Guilt only mounts when you think about the sadness in Alicent’s eyes when she said that. But then you think about your daughter’s laugh or the wide-eyed innocence of your son, and the guilt fades. All that is left is resentment. A deep hole where you think your heart used to be.

You have to shudder thinking about anyone from this family sitting the throne but at least you know some options are more… malleable than others.

“I can come back to give you more when you need it,” you brush a stray hair behind Rhaenyra’s ear. “Maybe I can read to you too.”

She gives you a tired smile, and nod before her eyes begin to flutter. You watch as her breathing labors as she drifts into a hazy state. In and out of sleep. Here she lays, a victim of the birthing bed like her mother. Ill equipped, and far too foolish to see the damage she will leave behind like her father.

“What is all of this?”

You walk into your chambers to find a table of food in the room. Aemond hops up from the bed. You take a look at the array of breads, and sweets on the table.

“All this for me,” you question, popping one of the lemon candies on a lemon cake in your mouth. “How romantic. The last time I had the pleasure of such a spread, you were telling me you got your mistress pregnant and it sent me into excruciating labor.”

Aemond face falls, and for a moment you understand what it has been like for him the past few years of marriage. To hold power over him, even if it is small and fleeting in the moment. Dangling kindness in front of his face to rip it away for no reason other than you can.

You continue to pick at the food, as Aemond just stares.

“Are you gonna say what this all about or just stare with that silly look on your face?”

His face flashes from sad stoicism something a bit angrier. Ah, that’s your husband.

“I am trying to mend things with you, and all I ge-“

“Oh, that is your first mistake,” you hold up a finger. “Well, not the first. You know your first. But trying to mend something that was never there to begin with? And with food that I could get myself. You’re smarter than that Aemond,” you tut at him.

“So, what now? We spend the rest of our days hating each other?”

If we even get that far.

“It has worked for others,” you shrug.

“It won’t for you,” he rebuts. “The hate will eat you alive. You’ll be miserable.”

Promise?

He speaks as if he is so sure of it. As like Helaena does at times, he has seen into a murky future, and pulled this out. You utterly miserable as you let that dark voice in your head play out all your morbid desires.

“But you would like that, wouldn’t you,” you think about the look he gave you when you wanted to reach for his knife. “Why else would you put through all of this but to make me as miserable as you are?”

It hang on the tip of your tongue. You could push you luck again, and tell him that she is gone, and never to be seen again. Twist the knife that you already have point at his back. But then you would have to be sure of things yourself. Dreams have dissolved into nightmares. Blood mixing the salty water of Dragonstone.

Then you wake and Otto’s words ring in your head. He took care of it. Now you are left trying to sort out the mess of memories that makes up your head. Guilt, anger, and sadness all managing fuck with your head in ways you could not imagine.

You eye the wine on the table. As much you admonish Aegon for it, you do get why he turned to it from such a young age.

The few hours of solace it gives is wonderful. Fleeting but necessary when everything else becomes too loud. Too much.

“It was not an absence in you. It was one in us… in me,” he looks so young when he says it. It almost reminds you of him when he ten and five. Fresh off a growth spurt. Terribly shy, terribly distant. But that was before. Before the expectation of marriage, of children and semblances of loyalty and care.

That boy is gone, and you are surely not the girl you were once you came to King’s Landing. You mourn that girl, the way you mourn the boy Aemond was before he lost his eye. You did not know him then but you always wonder what strings in him broke when that happened. An unjust act with no reconciliation to follow. If any of that led up to the man standing before you today.

“Well, at least that is something we can agree on,” you look down, trying to get rid of the hot tears in your eyes.

You have spent time trying to build up an armor in front of him. You’d hate to have it crack now.

“My grandsire told me about your little plan.”

It makes you look up. Aemond’s arms are crossed in skepticism.

“Your sister’s health is declining rapidly. Aegon needs to ready himself for this.”

“And he has agreed?”

“Your brother will fall in line as he realizes this is the only way to keep those dear to him safe,” you fiddle with the chocolate tart. “He already has actually.”

Helaena and him took a trip to one of the orphanages down in the Red Keep. It is about time people outside of this castle get a look at those in power. Aemond still does not look convinced.

“Does that upset you? The thought of him being king?”

“No more than it does having my useless sister or foolish nuncle on the throne.”

“What, no mention of the bastards technically in front you for the throne right now,” you think the joke falls flat till Aemond narrows his eye, and tilts his head to side in merriment. You have to do a bit of double take at the slight smirk on his face.

“You danced with one of those bastards.”

So, he remembers that.

“A tactical move,” you roll your eyes. “And when I advise Rhaenyra and Jacaerys that he should go back to Dragonstone as the new heir to the Irone Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, it would have payed off.”

“Leaving Rhaenyra as she’s abed, and stuck with Daemon? How would you manage that?”

“I can be quite convincing,” you shrug. “Not that you would understand.”

He takes another dig on chin, uncharacteristically good natured this day, but he gives you that look. The look where you don’t know whether he wants to skin you or kiss you. No one really has ever looked in the way Aemond has. As if he sees nothing of what you’re really made of while managing to look right through you at the same time.

“Better yet, I may even tell Baela and Rhaena that they should take this time to be with grandmother and grandfather, especially as Corlys may stand a similar fate as Rhaenyra.”

“What about the other one,” Aemond frowns.

Your brows furrow in confusion before it dawns on you. Both him and Lucerys had done a good job of avoiding each other since you all came back from Dragonstone. But you can tell the tiptoeing has created strain and awkwardness for everyone.

“If Baela and Jace are gone with Moondancer and Vermax in toe, that just leaves a clearly petrified Luke and Arrax. I think Vhagar, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre can handle that, no?”

Aemond raises a brow. “You want them to die?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” well that’s not entirely true, and the look Aemond gives you lets you in that he does not believe that as well. “As few casualties as possible is the goal. They can swear to Aegon when the time comes or be put the King’s Justice. As of now, we should take advantage of the uncertainty that rest amongst everyone.”

Aemond laughs, like really laughs. It takes you for surprise, and only upsets you. He laughs as if he finds your thoughts funny in the way seeing a squirrel run up a tree is funny. “What?”

“Nothing…. Lady Hightower.”

You scoff and throw the pieces of the fruit on the table at him. “Fuck off.”

“You make those faces and turn up your nose at Aegon being king, but you and I both know you will be the first to defend his throne,” you throw a strawberry at him but this time he catches it and eats it. “This is all for the kids, right? It is why they are not here, away from their mother?”

“They are away from their father as well. For their safety.”

You just hum.

“I want to write to them. They did not even get to say goodbye.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“I do not care, Aemond,” you raise your voice.

There is a knock at the door and Quinton comes in with a note in his hand. He eyes the food on the table as you read the note. It is from your father, assuring you about your parents soon departure back to the Riverlands.

“Are you alright,” he whispers. You nod softly. Quinton had been hovering somewhere in the background whenever Aemond was around, especially with the children gone. Clearly not trusting him around you.

Quinton should probably be more worried you around him. His cape swishes behind him when he goes to leave the room.

“You can write to them when the timing is better,” Aemond continues once you two are alone again.

The timing is never right. Not with him, not the with situation you are in.

The end of ninth moon of 129 AC

As you walk down the hall, a soft hand brushes against your arm.

“Are sure you are alright,” Quinton’s voice rings in your head, and tickles your ears softly.

“Of course,” you give fake smile, tilt of the head. He stops in the middle of the empty hall. Though he is your sworn protestor, you feel it is best to keep Quinton on the fringes unless needed otherwise. The less he knows, the safer he is you assume.

“I know you are not well without your children around,” he sighs. “But I would not want you to… sully yourself with things before you can get back to them.”

Sully. You take a long look at Quinton. There is something sweet about the way he views you. Entirely too earnest at time but sweet. You wish you could tell him he had nothing to worry about, and meant it. The pedastal he puts you on, my would it be a hard and long fall.

“I appreciate the concern, but I am ok,”’you reach up to touch his cheek. “You will be the first to know.”

He gives a half-hearted nod before then both of you continue your way to Rhaenyra’s chambers. When you get there the maidservants are beginning to place lights out in the hall for the night.

When you walk in, Rhaenyra is perched where she has been for some time now. Fiddling with the books on the shelf in the corner of the room.

“Maybe something a bit more upbeat. A love story,” you whisper. You go sit next to her on bed, flipping through the large brown book in your hand.

Rhaenyra begins to mumble as you shush her softly.

“It’s ok,” you reach over for the cup next to her bed. Sniffing the cup, you take note of how differently it smells compared to the tea and milk of the poppy mixture you used to.

The tonic seems different, stronger than usual. You put it to her lips and watch Rhaenyra drink it. You wipe her mouth. Even if this weakened state, you find her tragically beautiful. Like a fallen Angel. She resembles her siblings in that regard.

“I need - I need,” her eyes flutter open and shut. “The Prince that was Promised.”

You frown.

“Aeg- Aegon…”

“Your brother?”

“Tell Jacaerys.”

She trails off. Your back straightens as you watch as Rhaenyra’s eyes close, and her breathing slow.

The Prince that was Promised… Aegon.

You lean down and kiss her forehead. Mayhaps, in another life things could’ve been different for her. For her siblings, for her children, for you… for your kids. Climbing off the side of the bed, you gently tuck Rhaenyra in.

When you walk out, you see Quinton standing at attention. You motion for him to come with.

“I need you to do go get Otto,” you mummer. “We have business to get to.”

You cannot see the look Quinton gives you as move to walk ahead of him, and to that you are grateful.

Sullying is your only other option.

In the tenth moon 129 AC, the bell connected to the Royal Sept tolled for thee.

The death of Queen Rhaenyra, First of her Name, sent ripples through the Realm. But that was just beginning of the great strife that would follow her passing. A years peaceful period of reign for the Targaryen family ended by infighting.

Histories will say the first problem came the moment the then Princess and heir decided to sire bastard heirs. Others would say it began the moment, Rhaenyra left her succession vulnerable to her young brother. Not ending his line the moment she had the chance to.

Throughout her short reign as queen, there were festering rumors of usurping. That Lord Otto Hightower would hold secret meetings planning for the best moment to strike to get his grandson son on the throne. Others dispirited this claim, saying that the Dowager Queen Alicent’s afflictions for Queen Rhaenyra would never let that happen.

Ironically, it was not the death of the Rhaenyra is not the official start of what would later be called the Dance of Dragons. Instead the death of Prince’s Aemond One-Eye Targaryen’s lady wife’s parents triggered the domino affect. An escalation of plans.

Most would say the overflipped carriage was a tragic accident, but others whispered about something more serious. An inside attack from a member of the Targaryen family themselves. It was this tragedy that led to a public outcry from the members of the house in the Riverlands, coupling with the public crowning of a new king.

It was Ser Criston Cole, member of the Kingsguard, who crowed King Aegon, Second of his Name, in a private ceremony. Only flanked by his new crowned Queen Helaena, Prince Aemond and his wife, and Lord Hightower. King Aegon was crowned in front of the septon of faith, dawning his namesakes crown.

Back on Dragonstone, Jacaerys Velaryon recieved the news of not only his mother’s death, but also the usurping. Except it was not allies with the news, but foes. Jacaerys was slain at the footsteps of the castle.

It is still debated which side has more to gain to having Jace out of the way. King Aegon or Prince Daemon. But in the end, it was the later who eventually set up him home base at Dragonstone. Fleeing under the watchful eye of his spies in the Red Keep. With only two of his sons with him.

Both sides strategizing their moves. Daemon labeling Aegon and his supporters traitors to the realm, while Aegon set out to kill his uncle himself in given the chance. Under the insistence that it was him who accerlated Rhaenyra’s already bad condition.

Support the amongst the realm split as some supporter the efforts of the new king, far more open to his tactics than one of the Rogue Prince or Rhaenyra’s Bastards. While others scoffed at the boldness of Aegon the Usurper.

Those called on the opinions of the sons that remained at King’s Landing. Rumors of the Lucerys and Joffrey Velaryon being chained arriving. But it was not Daemon who negotiated the release of the boys. It was members of House Velaryon.

But there was one condition. It would be Baela and Rhaena, of both House Targaryen and Velaryon, that recieved equal titles after the passing of Corlys. Lucerys would be stripped of title of heir to the Driftmark Throne. It was rumored that this was not a cruel twist of fate from team green, but instead a plea from Lucerys himself.

It was Rhaena Targaryen, in all her wisdom, that worked through the terms. With a heavy heart, and no more bloodshed in her pleas. The more bold sister of the twins, Baela, had other plans. Sensing the release of Lucerys and Joffrey was a trap. She climbed on top of Moondancer, despite the calls not, and made her way closer to King’s Landing herself. But she was not alone. Her grandmother was with her.

Never one to sit from a battle himself, it was King Aegon who climbed his dragon to take them both on. All three dragon and riders fought diligently. Moondancer sustaining life ending injuries, while both Sunfyre and Aegon were injured at battle. But the most costly lost came at the hand of the One-Eyed Prince himself. Taking out Rhaenys and Meleys before further injury could come to his brother.

Enraged at the news of the death of Moondancer, and the almost costly lost of Baela, Daemon began his March. But he also had other plans at play. In efforts to lure the new Prince Regent out of the castle, he sent spies to Oldtown. Where not only Prince Daeron worked with all of Reach to support King Aegon. But also where the young Prince watched over his younger nieces and nephews.

There was an attempt to take the Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Aegon and Alaric Targaryen, son of Aemond. But the plan was thwarted by a terrible beast. Vermithor lurched and lured over Oldtown like a tower himself. His flames as green as the Hightower Beacon. Highly protective over his new rider and those close to her. At just six and seventh month, Daella Targaryen was feared as her father.

Still not wanting to be outdone, Daemon sets his sights towards not only Harrenhal, but another certain house in the Riverlands. His march pillaging those close to Aemond’s wife. Still grieving the lost of parents and seperated from her children, it was rumored the lady became more quiet, drowning herself in her cups.

It was she, with Queen Mother Alicent and Queen Helaena, who pleaded for Aemond to not take the bait. But it was too no vail. After he heard of the attempted kidnapping, he set out with men of his own.

His march mirroring his uncle’s not only through the Stormlands but as well as the Riverlands. There were whispers of inhabitants at Harrenhal. It is still speculated by both Daemon and Aemond did not burn the structure to the ground, when they had to chance. Tales would be written of a certain magic soiling the ground. Keeping safe from harm.

Though those tales are all rumors, what was undeniably true, is that two Targaryen princes breathed their last breaths over God’s Eye on the sixth moon of 130 AC. No one saw the battle, but the sound of snapping dragons and the sight of green and red flames that called attention.

Vhagar and Aemond both fought a valiant effort but it the wounds to both proved to be to substantial. Aemond Targaryen died on top of his crowned dragon. The burns from Vhagar burning Daemon beyond repair.

When their deaths made it back to the Red Keep, the halls recount the Queen Mother tearing her hair in anguish, calling for the deaths of not only everyone who supported Daemon, but Aegon the younger and Viserys alike.

A story of crowns and iron thrones whittled down to death and fire. The grief felt by team green only compounded by the body of Aemond’s lady wife found charred in their chambers. It was Ser Quinton, her sworn protector, who lived to tell the story of having to fight off several guards before it was too late. In a matter of days, Daella and Alaric Targaryen missing from their places in Oldtown.

Both jobs speculated to be last minute plans carried about for Daemon Targaryen, done by his loyal Gold Cloaks. It is said that King Aegon never fully recovers from the death of not only his brother, but his good sister. Punishing those he deems responsible once he comes to.

But there are merchants in Essos that believe they have spotted a beautiful lady hand in hand with her children. One with sparkling white hair, the other with blonde streaks through her dark curls.

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#im truly screaming crying throwing up about this being done #I hope y’all enjoy this and thank you again #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc

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