#source: oceans 8

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

LADY PAULSON for ALEXA | NEW YORK POST (2024)

[incorrectoceanseightquotes]

Daphne; "God, my back is killing me."

Rose; "Here, I brought you something to help."

Daphne; "A breast reduction?"

Constance; (running in the room from the kitchen) "NOOO!"

Daphne; ...

Constance; "Why would you spit in the face of God?!"

Rose; "Calm down, those aren't going anywhere and if they are, I'm going with them."

[odinsblog]

Thread on alternative views of iconic landmarks you (probably) haven’t seen before 🧵

1. Mount Fuji from a plane window.

2. Arc de Triomphe, Paris

3. Aerial view of Kaaba, Mecca

4. A view of the Taj Mahal that you do not usually see, highlighting the stark contrast between opulence and poverty divided by a single wall.

5. Top down view of the Statue of Liberty

6. The backside of Tutankhamun's burial mask

7. The dome of St. Peter’s Basilica seen through Rome's most famous keyhole.

8. The worn steps of the Tower of Pisa

9. Photographer Alexander Ladanivskyy, in collaboration with the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism, captured an extraordinary drone shot of the Great Pyramid of Giza from an unusual perspective.

10. The Shanhai Pass, where the Great Wall of China meets the ocean.

for images 11 - 25, please see the source, here

[lagaans]

i'm on my quest to become a more than superficial vampire enjoyer not only will i enjoy i will understand the aesthetics i will know the references and peruse the history 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[jackalopegothic]

God. Society if Sandra Bullock was Neo from the matrix. World Hunger Over. Bombs, gone. No hate only neo

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - January 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Landmark debt swap to protect Indonesia’s coral reefs

“The government of Indonesia announced this week a deal to redirect more than US$ 35 million it owes to the United States into the conservation of coral reefs in the most biodiverse ocean area on Earth.”

2. [FWS] Provides Over $1.3 Billion to Support Fish and Wildlife Conservation and Outdoor Access

“Through these combined funds, agencies have supported monitoring and management of over 500 species of wild mammals and birds, annual stocking of over 1 billion fish, operations of fish and wildlife disease laboratories around the country, and provided hunter and aquatic education to millions of students.”

3. Philippine Indigenous communities restore a mountain forest to prevent urban flooding

“Indigenous knowledge systems and practices are considered in the project design, and its leaders and members have been involved throughout the process, from agreeing to participate to identifying suitable land and selecting plant species that naturally grow in the area.”

4. Responsible Offshore Wind Development is a Clear Win for Birds, the U.S. Economy, and our Climate

“[T]he total feasible offshore wind capacity along U.S. coasts is more than three times the total electricity generated nationwide in 2023. […] Proven strategies, such as reducing visible lights on turbines and using perching deterrents on turbines, have been effective in addressing bird impacts.”

5. Illinois awards $100M for electric truck charging corridor, Tesla to get $40M

“The project will facilitate the construction of 345 electric truck charging ports and pull-through truck charging stalls across 14 sites throughout Illinois[…. E]lectrifying [the 30,000 daily long-haul] trucks would make a huge impact in the public health and quality of life along the heavily populated roadways.”

6. Reinventing the South Florida seawall to help marine life, buffer rising seas

“[The new seawall] features raised areas inspired by mangrove roots that are intended to both provide nooks and crannies for fish and crabs and other marine creatures and also better absorb some of the impact from waves and storm surges.”

7. Long Beach Commits to 100% All-Electric Garbage Trucks

“[Diesel garbage trucks] produce around a quarter of all diesel pollution in California and contribute to 1,400 premature deaths every year. Electric options, on the other hand, are quieter than their diesel counterparts and produce zero tailpipe emissions.”

8. ‘This Is a Victory': Biden Affirms ERA Has Been 'Ratified' and Law of the Land

“President Joe Biden on Friday announced his administration's official opinion that the amendment is ratified and its protections against sex-based discrimination are enshrined in the U.S. Constitution.”

9. A Little-Known Clean Energy Solution Could Soon Reach ‘Liftoff’

“Ground source heat pumps could heat and cool the equivalent of 7 million homes by 2035—up from just over 1 million today[…. G]eothermal energy is generally considered to be more popular among Republicans than other forms of clean energy, such as wind and solar.”

10. Researchers combine citizens' help and cutting-edge tech to track biodiversity

“Researchers in the project, which runs from 2022 to 2026, are experimenting with tools like drones, cameras and sensors to collect detailed data on different species, [… and] Observation.org, a global biodiversity platform where people submit pictures of animals and plants, helping to identify and monitor them.”

January 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Me, after doing 15 minutes of excessive googling on every Batfam member's birthday only to then realize I've accidentally missed the majority of them this year, and then also finding out that people are still aggressively debating over whether Bruce's birthday is April 7 or February 19, Dick's birthday happens 3-6x throughout the year, and Stephanie might have just popped into existence for all that DC cares:

Batfam birthday dates btw for anyone who needs them are listed beneath the cut:

DISCLAIMER: DC is notorious for being super inconsistent with everything and I am a mere tadpole caught in the tidal wave of DC's ocean. This post will be regularly updated with edits and corrections so please do not use it as word of law, I am begging you.

Update (8/24/23): To keep things more simple and easier for everyone I am going to start categorizing the birth dates I've collected into 3 categories.

-Most popular: Self-explanatory. These are the birth dates that have been canonized and confirmed by DC and are also more wildly celebrated by the fandom. Typically, this should be the first result you see when you google the character's birthday. But not always because DC sucks ass.

-Other date(s): These are the additional birth dates I come across that have been canonized in some form with multiple sources, but are not as wildly celebrated or popularized by DC and/or the fandom. Why am I including them here? Mostly because I don't want people coming in saying I forgot a date. But also because if I have to see this mess, then y'all have too as well.

-Potential but unconfirmed date(s): This is where I will put all the other additional dates I find, but specifically those that are lacking in complete sources or seem to be highly debated and scrutinized.

Also fun emoji ranking guide for me and me alone:

👑👑: Queen Shit. Characters with a consistent and simple birth date(s). Can absolutely do no wrong.

👑😮‍💨: In the Running. Characters who don't have a set birth date, but the mess is minor and completely DC's fault. They shouldn't have to be punished for DC's crimes.

🤡🤡: Gtfo. Shit is so inconsistent and stupidly messy that it's making me lose my shit. I'm putting DC and the characters on trial for this bullshit.

👑Alfred Pennyworth👑

Most popular: August 16

Other date(s): April 8 and March 31

(I think it'd be hella cute if Jason and Alfred shared a bday. But if you keep scrolling through the rest of the list, you'll see that August is kind of an overcrowded bday month for the Batfam.

Depending on what you prefer, though, I still think Alfred's worth being celebrated. Lord knows he deserves a special day for himself)

(Update ((8/24/23)): No big inconsistencies between these dates. I just thought it would be fun to provide some info on why Alfred has two canonical birthdates.

So the reason August 16 is viewed as the most popular is for two main reasons. One, obviously, is that he shares a birth date with Jason Todd. So many fans latch onto this date because of how sweet it is for them to share a birthday together.

The second reason has to do with the origin of the birth date. This is because of the more recent retcon that was made by the prequel comic to the Injustice: Gods Among Us video game that was published in 2013. There is a panel in the comic that shows Alfred's birth certificate in full detail from his full name, his place of birth, etc.

As for April 8, this specific date technically has more history compared to August 16. Fans will cite that April 8 was the official date selected by DC according to their Super DC Calendar back in 1976 (which btw was made in 1975).

Compared to August 16 and April 8, however, March 31 oddly enough isn't that popular or recognized by DC or the majority of the fandom. The reason March 31 does come up is because March 31, 1943 was the date when Alfred made his first appearance in the comics, one day after Bruce/Batman)

🤡Bruce Wayne🤡: Hey. Hey, DC, look at me. Bitch.

Most popular: February 19 or April 7

Other date(s): April 25, May 27, March 30, "October," October 7, and "November"

(It looks like most people go with February 19, but don't come at me if you're a April 7 truther. I'm just existing)

(Update ((8/20/23)): I'm gonna shoot somebody. So after doing a little bit more research, I came across-you'd never guess it-even more conflicting info on when Bruce's birthday is supposed to take place.

While April 7 and February 19 are still popular days for fans to celebrate Batman's bday, March 30 is also considered a popular date due to March 30, 1939 being the day Detective Comics #27 ((the issue Batman debuted in)) was put on shelves.

HOWEVER, even Batman's debut is contested to actually be May 27, 1939 because despite the fact that Detective Comics #27 first appeared to the public on March 30, 1939, the cover issue depicted May 27, 1939 instead.

This is because it was a popular practice for comics publication houses to falsify their cover dates as a way to give the impression that the latest issue was newer than it actually was. So if you really, really wanna get super fucking technical about it ((and I know there are some of you out there who do)), Batman may have debuted on March 30, but the cover-issue date was May 27 so, yes, I guess Bruce could have been a May baby instead.

I hate it here.

Oh, and to make matters more complicated, let's discuss the issue of April 7 vs April 25. So the reason April 7 is a popular bday for Bruce is because the original 1930-40s run just outright stated that April 7 was his birthday. Simple enough.

So what does April 25 have to do with this? Well, that's because technically-I think I hate that word now btw-Batman didn't get his own solo comic until April 25, 1940. If you want to go by April 25 because of this logic, however, that means that you'd have to share Bruce's birthday with the Joker. Because guess what? That's also the exact date that the Joker debuted.

I'm personally not a huge fan of Bruce and the Joker sharing a bday. Mostly just because the dates are clearly already complicated enough. But also I feel like April 25 is just known as the Joker's bday at this point, at least in the DC fandom. And Bruce has so many options at this point that it'd be kinda silly to make them share a bday.

As for the "sometime in October" and "sometime in November" additions, we have Batman The Animated Series and Frank Miller's "Batman: Year One" to thank for those extremely vague options.

BTAS Bruce states that his birthday is "sometime in October" and "Batman: Year One" Bruce is responsible for "sometime in November." I repeat: I hate it here.

So when is Bruce's actual birthday? Well, the latest change that DC has "officially" made was the February 19 retcon during the 1970-80s. When a fan sent a question into Detective Comics about Bruce's birthday, the answer given was "February 19" in the letter column. Issue #494, to be exact.

And the reason this answer was given? Because the Super DC Calender for 1976 (again made in 1975) said so.

However, there are still people who prefer to celebrate his bday on April 7 or March 30 instead. And there's also a question floating around if the New 52 run could potentially retcon Bruce's bday AGAIN at some point in the future.

I. Hate. It. Here.

Personally, I liked February 19 because then Alfred could maybe have the month of April to himself. But after seeing all this new info, I'm just sort of resigned to whichever date that the fandom prefers. Y'all can decide. I don't have any energy left.

Also, I can't believe I have to accuse Bruce of having possibly taught Dick his bday scam. Just .... wow).

(Update ((8/24/23)): Well, DC did it to me again. I found this extra little tidbit while googling the Super DC Calendar for Alfred, actually.

So Issue #10 of the 2021 Legends of the Dark Knight decided to give the BTAS's "sometime in October" an actual sometime.

How do I feel about yet another Bruce Wayne bday retcon? Honestly, I think I'm moving closer and closer to just a bland state of acceptance at this point. Tbh, I don't think all these retcons actually matter that much in the end. DC is gonna keep being DC.

Which is annoying. But Idk I'm personally gonna stick with February 19. No shade to you if you prefer any of the other dates. I just like February 19 more than the others)

👑Kate Kane👑

Most popular: March 21

Other date(s): January 26

(So ... where to start to with this one?

Well the official DC canon birth date for Kate Kane is listed as March 21. That being said, if you were to google Kate's birthday right now, you might be confused because that's not the first result that comes up.

Instead, you'll be greeted with January 26, 1990.

So what gives? If there's already an official DC approved birth date, then why the fuck is January 26 coming up all of a sudden?

Well, folks, you have the CW's Batwoman to thank.

Tbh I was very confused as to how I completely missed that there was an entire Batwoman TV show in the first place.

Apparently the show is considered a part of the CW Arrowverse (in reference to the CW show Arrow featuring Oliver Queen, for those of you who need extra info) and ran for 3 whole seasons before being cancelled on April 9, 2022.

And they gave us actual canon lesbian Kate Kane rep. I mean, she is a lesbian. But yeah. CW actually acknowledged her sexual orientation. So kudos for doing the bare minimum?????

Anyway, I guess the showrunners just decided they wanted Kate's birthday to be on January 26 instead of March 21??? Idk if this was supposed to be a reference or an homage to Cassandra Cain's birthday. I doubt it, but who knows?)

🤡Dick Grayson🤡: Greedy bitch who keeps lying about his birthday so he can scam people into giving him more presents jk jk

Most popular: "On the first day of spring" (bruh) or March 20/21

Other date(s): March 6, "April," October 24 (aka "the week before Halloween"), November 11 and December 1

Potential but unconfirmed date(s): June 24

(Dick's canon bday seems to be influx. March 6, March 20, March 21, November 11, June 24, December 1, and so on. I did see multiple sources state Dick was born "on the first day of spring." I'm unclear atm about whether this is a fanon take or if it was actually stated in a particular comic at some point.

As far as I'm concerned, Dick just keeps lying about his birthday for the lols)

(Update ((8/24/23)): Well, guess what I found, folks?

It's a return visit from our favorite friend, the Super DC Calendar of 1976. And according to it, Dick's birthday should be November 11.

You can also thank the Young Justice comic for the confusion surrounding Dick's bday being on December 1.

Also, I found this post by @theflyingwonder that helps clear up a LOT of the mess surrounding Dick's ever changing birth date. Honestly, amazing work and extra kudos to them for putting all the work in and finding all the sources. I just wished I had found their post earlier, holy shit.

And if you have some extra time, please give some love to @inkydandy for their hilarious and very sweet comic about all the confusion that comes with Dick's bday)

(Update ((8/25/23)): Many thanks to @poisoned-ivy for clearing up even more of the mess surrounding Dick's bday. I went ahead and took a screenshot of their response to my old "Which date is Dick's canon bday?" poll.

They also provided a link to the DC Universe Calendar which was lovingly compiled from the original 1976 Super DC Calendar and then put together by the people who run the Five Earths Project .

Also found out from them today that October 24 is one of Dick's bdays ((at least for Post-Crisis Dick Grayson)). So that was a fun new discovery!

They were also very helpful in helping me realize that the original article I had found that stated "sometime in April" was actually in reference to Dick Grayson's first appearance in the comics, which was April 1940.

So, yes, "sometime in April" is technically--again I hate this word so much now--still a valid candidate for Dick's bday. And before you ask: Detective Comics #38 was actually published on March 6, 1940.

Hence why people will cite March 6 as Dick's canon bday instead.

This project got a lot bigger than I ever expected it to ... god)

👑Barbara Gordon👑: September 23

👑Jason Todd👑: August 16

👑Cassandra Cain👑: January 26

👑Tim Drake👑: July 19

👑Stephanie Brown😮‍💨: She emerged from the void with the sole purpose of dragging Bruce's ass to hell and back. Nothing can stop her. We all exist in her world now.

Potential but unconfirmed date(s): June 23, "August," or August 11

(For real, though, some peeps will say June 23 since the month she officially debuted in the comics was June 1992.

But I've also seen August 1992 listed as her bday month as well--lot of August babies in the Batfam, huh--but I haven't found June 23 specifically listed as her canon bday, either. It honestly feels like the fans are putting in more work than DC at this point. Which, like, I'm not surprised. Just disappointed)

(Update ((8/24/23)): Someone mentioned August 11 as a potential birth date, but I have yet to see an actual source that specifically states this. If I do find one, I'll edit this section. Figured I should put it here just in case, though)

👑Duke Thomas👑: August 13

👑Damian Wayne👑: August 9

👑Terry McGinnis😮‍💨

Most popular: August 18

Other date(s): June 27 or August 10

Potential but unconfirmed date(s): September 19 (fml)

(Yes, I'm including Terry, fuck you lol

Also SERIOUSLY WTF is up with so many of these August birthdays!!!! Fuck, was everyone just getting crazy BUSY in November!!!! What's going on in the DC universe that is making November of all months the HORNY MONTH????!!!!)

(Mini update ((8/18/23)): Well, I just found out that apparently June 27th 2023 is also a highly debated birth date for Terry. As is August 10 2023/2024 and August 18 2023/2024. I even saw a mention of September 19 2023, but I don't know how credible that source actually is. I'm just putting it here because I'm losing my mind and I don't want someone to pop in and say I forgot it omfg I'm dying

I'm just ... why? Why is it so hard to just commit to one month and one date. I'm not even concerned about the exact year. Just commit to ONE, man.

Excuse me while I march over to DC HQ and burn the whole place to the ground iswtfg)

Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on any of these. I have a massive headache now and am open to any suggestions or clarifications y'all have to offer.

Also, I'm going to fist fight Dick in a Denny's parking lot.

Update (8/17/23): So a mini post that I meant to use as a way to vent how insane Dick was making me somehow blew up way more than I ever expected it to, and now I feel obligated to clarify again that I am open to any corrections and additional info that anyone has to offer.

I'm saying this because I've noticed people reblogging this post for actual Batfam bday references and someone already pointed out I fucked up Tim's bday and now I feel bad for everyone who reblogged this post prior to that edit.

It's probably just the anxiety talking, but yeah I just wanted to put that out there.

Also justice for Stephanie Brown! She deserves to have her own special day and if I have to bully DC into giving her a canon birthday, then you bet your ass I fucking will.

(And to all of y'all who are encouraging Dick to keep running his side scam business, I just have this to say: There's an empty Denny's parking lot somewhere out there just waiting for you, too lol)

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 4

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Three days after the call, Sanji follows Zoro’s instructions to the book and waits for him at an island with a bustling town in the middle of the day. The blonde is well aware of the local Marine base in the area but he ignores this fact and turns up at the townsquare just as he promised, not wanting to disappoint his, hopefully, future fiance. Unsurprisingly, he is met by navy officers who tell him to come along quietly.

Law had refused to use The Polar Tang to contain their guest as he didn’t want to risk his submarine and crew to suffer any potential consequences as a result of the interrogation that they're planning. Zoro had to pull strings to borrow a room at the Marine base, stating that it’s for an official Warlord business. He and the doctor had been waiting for over half an hour overtime for the soldiers to return with Sanji. Zoro sends additional troops to investigate the delay. After another suspicious amount of time of having received no news, the two decide to investigate the matter themselves.

Zoro and Law make their way to the townsquare where the swordsman had instructed Sanji to be. Upon arrival, it was clear what had happened to the navy soldiers that he’d sent out. Deep red and severed body parts taint the white tiles throughout the block. A few had somehow made their way on top of trees and the shops’ window sills. Some float lifelessly in the fountain right in the middle–its sprinkling water had changed to a scarlet red. Liquid splatters grossly against the white marble sculptures that decorated the water feature.

Law grits his teeth, his knuckles turn white from gripping his sword tightly.

Zoro all but rolls his eyes. He hates the fact that he’s used to Sanji doing this sort of thing.

Zoro

What a waste.

They follow a trail. It’s not hard to find where Sanji had gone given how much blood there was, and Zoro had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde had purposely left his stained footprints to show where he’s going. He enjoys Zoro chasing him this way after all.

While walking, Law sends a message through his own den-den mushi to his crew, ordering them to check in on the citizens and make sure that everyone’s safe. Not long after, Bepo reports that the citizens are unharmed–extremely shaken but they’re untouched. The polar bear adds that a few witnesses say that it was only the Marines who tried to force the Pirate King into cuffs that had been torn apart. Some had apparently been allowed to flee.

Law looked to Zoro, as if expecting him to have a reasonable explanation as to why the Pirate King behaves the way he does. Cutting down local town Marines seems a bit too excessive in his opinion. The swordsman confesses that he's just as confused, and that over the years he'd just accepted that he's just mad because it's just the way he was born.

Zoro

All the more reason he deserves to die.

Zoro stops in his tracks, standing on the wooden pier of the docks. It looks like the rest of the bloody footprints lead right through to the very end. Looking at the ocean, he sees a distinct murky area of red on one spot. A head of blonde and white hair pokes out from the middle, the sun shining beautifully over it. Zoro felt–

Zoro shakes his head at the thought. 

Law follows Zoro's gaze, ending the call on his transponder snail when he sees who's in the water.

Law

Speak of the devil….

 

Zoro

OI!!!

The blonde turns to look at the source of sound.

Sanji

MELLORINE!!!

Sanji waves enthusiastically at the duo staring at him.

From afar, Zoro could tell that the man practically had heart eyes bulging out of his eye sockets.

Sanji takes a plunge into the water, swimming away from the murky area then reappears next to the wooden pier just under where Zoro was standing. His head pokes out gracefully, then gives the swordsman a warm smile.

Zoro takes a step back to distance himself, suddenly feeling like a girl whose skirt is being perverted on.

Zoro

Don’t give me that, idiot. Your outlash may have cost me some pull from the Marines.

Sanji

Oh? Has it occurred to you that that may have been my plan?

Zoro’s eye twitches, clearly infuriated at being toyed with. He pulls himself together internally and lets out a defeated sigh.

Zoro

Is this for not meeting up with you in person like I said I would? I got stuck with all the bureaucratic paper bullshit.

Sanji

I don’t know…

Sanji had a teasing tone behind his voice. He effortlessly pulls himself up to sit at the edge of the wooden planks, shakes his head and starts wringing his hair over his shoulder.

Sanji

Next time, don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Zoro lets out an offended huff.

Zoro

Next ti–? NO! There’s no next time! We're enemies. And what, is this your way of punishing me? To make me feel guilty? By murdering a bunch of Marines?

Sanji

Oh please, it was out of self-defense! They came onto me first….

Sanji calmly stands on his feet. Slowly, he begins to strip off his top, revealing his lean but muscular figure.

Zoro’s eye trails from Sanji’s scar across throat, down to the defined v-shape below his waistline. He recognises the cuts and burns from their battles, and some he guesses are from his own volition. When the blonde turns to fix his hair, Zoro eyes a small red tattoo, located below the nape of his neck. For some reason, he’s never noticed it on him before–a red circle with four triangles, arranged to look like the claws of a dragon. It has a cluster of messy scars over it, as if it'd been attempted to be removed by means of violent scratching. Like all else, he’s wondered what the story behind this is–

Zoro almost slaps himself to shake the thoughts out of his head. He makes an effort to look the blonde in the eye before he notices him staring.

Sanji gives Zoro a side glance before squeezing the damp clothing in his hands to dry it. He closes his eyes and his mouth curves into a cheeky smile. He gives his top one last flick before tossing it over his shoulder.

Sanji

I gave them a chance to apologise but some of them didn’t have any manners and charged in. Really, they were quite rude.

Zoro

You could have just knocked them out. Some of them were fresh blood. They’re probably just trying to prove they can do a good job to impress their seniors.

Sanji

By overdoing it. And now that fresh blood is all over my poor clothes. All because they tried to force me into those…heavy, rusty fuckin’ pieces of– 

Law clears his throat.

Zoro and Sanji look at him, annoyed at the interruption.

Law

If you’re done bickering like an old married couple….

Zoro’s eye visibly twitches, his brows furrowing angrily at Law's poor choice of words.

Sanji practically swoons, his hands slap his own reddened cheeks while the rest of his body squirm comically.

Sanji

OH, YOU–stop that! We’re not married yet, you bastard!

Zoro

WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED. PERIOD!!!

Law could practically feel the veins in his forehead pop.

—

They start the trek back to the Marine base, purposely taking the longer way through the shoreline to avoid panicked citizens after Sanji’s onslaught.

Sanji

Marimo-kun~!

Zoro ignores the man, and concentrates on walking quietly. He attempts to put his mind in a meditative state.

Sanji

Ma–ri–mo-kun~?

The shade under Zoro’s brows darkens. He focuses on his breathing–he inhales, holds it, then exhales. He repeats it several times more.

Sanji crumples his heavy damp clothing into a ball then throws it at the back of Zoro’s head, causing the other man to stumble.

Sanji

I SAID “MARIMO”, YOU ASS!!!

Zoro grabs the wet top and throws it hard onto Sanji’s face square on, knocking the man down on his butt.

Sanji

THAT HURT!

Zoro

DON’T THROW GROSS THINGS AT ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

With a blink of an eye, Sanji’s demeanour changes. He bites his lip and looks up to Zoro with a large puppy eye.

Sanji

Why is he here? Isn’t this a date?

Zoro

Fuck off. I never said it is. We’ll tell you when we get to the base.

Sanji

Hmm…no, then I’m not going.

Sanji crosses his arms stubbornly. His legs do the same, planting himself firmly on the ground.

Law

Zoro-ya, can’t you just tie him up and drag his ass along? I just want this over and done with.

Zoro

You’ve seen what happens if you force him into things, idiot.

Sanji

Yeah, idiot.

Zoro

I’m not talking to you.

Sanji

Then do, otherwise I’m not coming along. You're taking me into a Marine base after all. I'd be at a disadvantage as soon as I step inside. You have to give me a good reason to go with you.

Zoro

You said you'd help me.

Sanji

You? Sure. I was hoping to gain your personal favour. Him? Ehh…. He's not exactly my type.

Sanji looks at Law, slowly dragging his eyes down his frame.

Sanji

Hmm…I guess he could be if he's willing to play.

Law nervously takes a step back, feeling hot and bothered.

Zoro sighs. He considers for a moment, trying to come up with a way to make sure that Sanji cooperates with them peacefully for as long as possible without sacrificing anyone to indulge in whatever sexual fantasies are in his head. After a time, he speaks firmly.

Zoro

Tra-guy, tell him everything you told me.

Law

Here? We’re doing this right here, right now?

Sanji

I'm glad you understand, Marimo.

Law

I… I don’t know.

Sanji

I don’t need the whole sob story, Trafalgar D. Water Law.

Law blinks in surprise that Sanji knows his name. Sure he had a bounty but he didn’t think it was anything noteworthy. He certainly wasn’t aware that the Pirate King would care enough to know about it. He opens his mouth as if to say something but gets interrupted.

Sanji

I have eyes and ears everywhere, love. What I don’t know is why the Surgeon of Death is looking for Doffy.

Zoro

Doffy? The same guy who gave you your new weapon?

Sanji

Aww! You remembered?! …Are you jealous?

Sanji gives Zoro a suggestive wink, taking the swordsman aback.

Zoro

Don't be ridiculous.

Sanji

If you like, I can call off my affairs with him and just make it exclusive with you….

Law

As much as I want to kill that monster, I don’t think I can right now. Not at my current strength.

Sanji snaps his gaze to Law, giving him a dangerous look.

Sanji

You’re right. You can’t.

Law

I’m just looking for my friend. It’s…it’s his brother, Donquixote Rosinante.

Sanji raises a brow.

Sanji

Corazon has been dead for years.

Law

Then you better check your sources, Mr. Prince-ya. Because I have letters from him from the last several months.

Sanji stands on his feet and approaches Law slowly.

Sanji

Show me.

—

Back at the Marine base, Sanji and Law escalated into a heated argument in the interrogation room. Sanji insists that if they truly want his insight into Donquixote Rosinante, the doctor should show all the letters that he claims to have.

Naturally, Law refused to show the blonde, stating that it’s all too personal.

Zoro knows he shouldn’t, but for once, he feels relieved that someone else is dealing with the mad king’s temper. He hides a smirk behind a bottle of sake, taking a swill.

Sanji

Don’t be an idiot. I don’t give a flying fuck what’s in them!

Law

Then there’s no reason for you to see a single one.

Sanji clasps both of his hands together, and gently sets them down the wooden table in front of him. With a deep voice, he speaks.

Sanji

Enlighten me then, how do you truly know it is him?

Law

If you must know, all his letters have…details that only he and I know.

Sanji firmly presses his fingers down the table, then speaks slowly but clearly.

Sanji

All the more reason that you could be in bigger danger than you think, doctor.

Law frowns.

Sanji

You're far too enamoured to think straight. How do you know it’s not just someone else messing with you? Hmm? Someone like Doffy?

Law crosses his arms then leans back against his chair, listening intently.

Sanji

Think about this��� very… carefully.

Sanji shuffles in his pockets and fishes out a pack of cigarettes. When he opens the box, his eyes furrow in disappointment, seeing that all of his smokes are heavily damaged from water and blood. He throws the pack over his shoulder then snatches Zoro’s bottle of sake as the swordsman was about to take a drink.

Zoro

Oi!

Sanji takes three big gulps before slamming the bottle down on the table.

Sanji

Given how touchy you are about the idea of me reading them, I’m guessing you’ve become quite emotionally attached to the letters, haven’t you? Just consider, whoever wrote them knows an awful lot of details about you. What’s more, they know where to find you, and how to find you.

Zoro raises a brow at that. He notices that the doctor is starting to lose his composure slightly as a tiny bead of sweat falls on the side of his face.

Law

You assume it’s being sent to me.

Sanji

A trail, then? He’s leaving you clues and you’re more than happy to follow it.

Law

That’s…

Sanji takes another big drink, then explains his point further, waving Zoro’s bottle in front of him as he makes hand gestures to emphasize his speech.

Sanji

What if it’s a trap? If someone, say…I don’t know–like Doffy–is pretending to be Corazon, then you’d have been sold out for a fool.

Law slams his hand aggressively on the table, cracking its surface where his fist landed.

Law

You’re wrong!

Sanji stares at him unimpressed but doesn’t say anything, as if allowing him the chance to explain himself. He leans back against his chair.

Law

Look, I just know, okay? It’s him. I’m sure of it.

Sanji

You just know…?

Law

Yes.

Sanji

Then you’re hopeless.

As Zoro attempts to steal his sake back, the blonde slaps his hands away and takes several more swills from the bottle, as if telling the swordsman that he’s not done with his turn yet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then returns his focus back to Law.

Sanji

And how is it that you just know?

Zoro

Tra-guy, he’s not going to stop until you show him.

Law

You’re on his side, Zoro-ya?

Zoro

Look, you don’t have to show him everything, just show him one–like the bit where you’re stuck. It was enough to convince me.

Law pinches the gap between his brows.

Law

What you’re basically telling me…is that I should trust him with this information? That I should trust this mass murdering fucker with something extremely important to me?

Sanji

I told you, I don’t give a shit what’s in it–

Law

That’s what worries me! Because I care–a lot! I….

Law’s ears visibly reddens in embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze.

Law

He was… is… very important to me. The letter is from him. I’m sure of it. And if you don’t care about it then I’m not letting you get your hands on it.

There was a moment of silence. Sanji watches Law in his vulnerable state. After a while, the blonde takes another drink from the bottle and sets it in front of Zoro.

Zoro grabs the bottle enthusiastically. He raises it above his mouth and nothing but a single drop falls onto his tongue. His smile vanishes, and his shoulders droop sadly until his arms and face melt onto the table. He sets the bottle down, pushing it away from him.

Sanji

I apologise, doctor.

Zoro and Law both look at Sanji in surprise.

Sanji offers a warm smile to Law.

Sanji

I’m afraid I’m not so good at these things. I’ll help you however I can.

Zoro stares at him in disbelief, cocking his head on the side against the table, processing the genuinity behind Sanji’s tone. He detects no ill will or malice behind it. He tells himself he’s just a bloody good liar.

Sanji

However, I still need to see a letter–just one will do, like the swordsman said–so I can study it. I promise I’ll take good care of it. If it resembles Doffy’s writing in any way, I will tell you. If it’s not, I’ll see what I can deduct from it, given that you’re apparently…”stuck”.

Law

I…thank you, Mr. Prince-ya.

Sanji slightly bows his head at him in acknowledgement.

Law

However, there is one thing that still bugs me….

Sanji

Oh?

Law

Why the interest in Corazon? You seem very keen to find out if he’s really dead or not.

Sanji

Corazon was–is…Doffy’s brother after all. His death shook a number of undercover Marine agents, enough to blow their covers.

Zoro

How would you know that?

Sanji

Because it all happened under wraps, which I make it my business to know. Your precious World Government made sure to cover it up nice and snug to keep up appearances.

Meanwhile, everyone else who actually did the work started pointing fingers, accusing each other of who ratted out your mate, afraid that they’re next. Ultimately, they hunted each other down. Now, while I don’t give two shits about the Marines, this whole ordeal should not be taken lightly.

Sanji leans forward on his seat.

Sanji

If he is alive, then Doffy has lied to me, which violates the rules of our country’s alliance. I’ll need to look into this matter personally to keep this quiet. If you let me help you, this will be beneficial for the both of us, I assure you.

Law takes a moment to process everything that Sanji had laid out for him. Reluctantly, he nods. Thinking it takes a criminal to know one. He reminds himself that he just needs advice and nothing more. He leans forward and shuffles in his pockets. He pulls out a folded piece of paper but before he could stretch his arm to offer it to Sanji, the blonde raises his hands in front of him.

Sanji

Let me just wash up. I still have Marine blood on me and I don’t want to get them all over your letters.

Sanji stands, then walks to the door.

Zoro’s eyes follow him. His expression softens at the blonde’s thoughtfulness and unexpected change in character. It must just be the single sip of the sake that clouds his own thoughts. He makes it clear to himself that it’s just acting–no doubt to get on Law’s good side then at the last second stab him in the back.

Sanji

Marimo-kun, the door, please?

Zoro

Ah. Right.

Zoro unlocks the door, then hollers for a couple of Marines to take the Pirate King to the washroom, instructing them specifically to “be nice” if they value their lives. Hesitantly, they do as he says, even with the odd request, too scared to do anything out of hand especially after learning what had happened to their colleagues in the townsquare.

Law kicks back on his seat, placing his hands behind his head.

Law

He’s not what I expected.

Zoor closes the door behind him, and turns to the doctor, glaring at him.

Zoro

That may be the last thing in your head if you let your guard down. Remember what I told you earlier.

Law

His mind is his real weapon, not his claws. I know. But he–

Zoro

As soon as he charms you, he’ll make you do things you’ll regret. Luffy would kill me if he gets to you.

Law

You sound like you talk from experience….

Zoro

Don’t even go there. Have you forgotten that he’s just murdered a bunch of Marines not far from here?

Law

I…you’re right.

Zoro approaches Law, jabbing a finger on his chest.

Zoro

Don’t forget what I said.

Moments later, Sanji returns to the interrogation room, escorted by a couple of trembling Marines behind him. They bring him inside, then rush out the door, locking it behind them in a panicked state. The blonde looks and smells a lot cleaner this time, and his hair is damp again–presumably after having borrowed the navy’s shower room. Zoro and Law also can’t help but notice that he’s completely changed out of his blood-stained clothes, and is now sporting a Marine officer uniform worn with the coat buttons undone and no shirt underneath, keeping his front exposed.

Sanji saunters, twirls gracefully, then strikes a pose to show off his new outfit proudly. Zoro can’t help but let out an unexpected hearty laugh.

Zoro

That looks awful on you! You didn’t just pry it from the dead, did you?

Sanji

Goodness, no. They had spares. I admit, it’s a little loose, but you don’t have to be so mean.

Sanji flicks his hair, keeping his other hand on his hip. The small spray of water from his hair strands makes it look like sparkles in the air with the way the room’s light shone on it. He looks down at the swordsman, making the other man stop in his fit of laughter.

Sanji

Besides, I feel fantastic in it.

Hey, tattoo guy, let’s do this. 

Sanji is back on his seat. The look of confidence he usually wears on his face has dithered away. He looks dumbfoundedly at the piece of paper that Law had given him. He flips the paper to check its back, looks at the front again, then flips it once more.

Sanji

This is it?

Law nods. His face had gone red.

Sanji

It just says “I love you.”

Law pulls out a stack of the similarly sized papers of varying shades from his breast pocket and lays it down in the middle of the table.

Law

Now you’ve seen one, you’ve seen it all. But uh… you can’t touch these.

Sanji slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand.

Sanji

I don’t know what I expected. THEY’RE NOT EVEN SIGNED!

Law

It’s something he’d do, okay?! You wouldn’t understand.

Sanji

No, I don’t!!! This is ridiculous! Is this seriously it?!

Sanji stops abruptly. His eyes stare at the stack of papers, shifting left and right, as if suddenly deep in thought–and he’s thinking fast. He inspects the one closely in his hand, then holds it close to the stack on the table, comparing the two.

Sanji

These papers are all not from the same place.

Law

Why does the paper matter?

Sanji

Because, my dear, this means that you’re always in his thoughts–or whoever’s writing it anyway. They didn’t write this all in one go then went about scattering it. They took their time, and wrote down a new letter each time they thought of you with whatever they could get their hands on.

Law freezes. Whatever thoughts he has, he keeps it in his head but it’s noticeably making his hands and lips tremble. After a few quiet moments, Zoro breaks the silence to help him out.

Zoro

Tra-guy, show him the other thing.

Law

Right….

Law pulls out a long envelope the length of his arm. He carefully places it in front of Sanji

Law

This came with the letter that you’ve got in your hand.

Sanji tilts his head curiously. He carefully sets down the letter he’d been given earlier, then gestures towards the envelope.

Sanji

May I?

Law nods.

Sanji gently lifts the flap, then pulls out a delicate feather from the envelope.

Law

The letters always come with a clue where to go next. My crew and I have been travelling for several months now, mostly in the Grand Line. This is the latest, and the reason why we thought Doflamingo may know something, or has got Corazon locked up somewhere. But we haven’t been able to track him down for quite some time.

Sanji pinches the hollow shaft, spinning the feather to admire its features.

Sanji

Hmm…I don’t think it’s Doffy. Though this would make a nice feather for a hat.

Law

What makes you say that?

Sanji claps his hands excitedly.

Sanji

Ooh, I’m glad you asked! There’s this hat that Zoro’s dad wears everywhere. It’s got this gorgeous white feather that makes it stand out nicely with–

Zoro

Not about the hat, stupid! Why do you think it’s not Doflamingo?

Sanji

Rude. But that’s a simple question. Doffy’s coat is pink. This is more purple-pink. Hmm… I think this might be from a South Bird. They’ve got a big body and an even bigger personality. They’re native to Skypiea.

Zoro’s brows shoot up.

Law

Skypiea? The legendary island in the sky? Isn’t that just a tall tale? 

Zoro

I remember those birds. I can see why there’d be some confusion now.

Sanji

Have you been there, Marimo-kun?

Zoro smiles softly at the feather, then reaches out for it. Sanji obliges, handing it to him by the hollow shaft gently, their fingers brushing each other. The swordsman runs his hands through its soft barbs.

Zoro

Sure have, while travelling with my old captain.

Sanji watches Zoro admire the feather, taking notice of his brightened expression and hazel eye. He wonders what sort of tales he has in store. He doesn’t speak much of his old captain to him. Then again, he doesn’t really share a lot of things with him because why would he?

Only now did Sanji realise that he hasn’t really taken his time to admire the swordsman’s features up close. He makes a mental note to plan a sneaky peek under a different light–maybe outside during dawn or dusk when the colours of the sky would bring out his eye colour more.

Law

How do you know for certain that it’s from a South Bird, Mr. Prince-ya? I don’t recall you being an aviary expert.

Sanji

Oh, I’m not claiming to be a scientist in any way. But I have this thing for feather coats since Doffy likes to use it for sex.

Zoro drops the feather from his hands.

----------

Here's a more polished art to make up for the longer chapter.

[targaryenimagines]

Shattered Wings

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 21,652

Summary: You had known, from the moment you stepped foot onto Westeros, that this cursed land would take from you more than you were willing to give; rip you apart, only to put you back together slightly off so you were never truly whole again. You just never expected, never even believed, that it’d be your darling son, your precious Prūmia, your Viserion, that would have to pay the price; and that it would be all due to the actions of your Khaleesi.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, angst with a happy ending, angry/grieving sex (trying to numb the pain), dark thoughts, grief, self-worth issues, and slight self-harm (R digs her nails into her arms). Reader is not in a good place. (This is just very angsty.)

Notes: Still not over how the sweetest baby Viserion got treated by D&D (nor how we barely got any scenes of Daenerys dealing with said event — both in Season 7 and in Season 8 when she found out he was enslaved by the Night King; even a scene with her and his shattered body would have been something). Hopefully, in this story, I can do their bond justice (along with the reader's bond with him, of course). Forewarning as well that the Reader puts Dany through the wringer; anger and grief can change someone in ways that you’d never imagine… Is it wholly fair to Dany? Absolutely not. Just wanted to let you all know that beforehand as it’s not pretty for a bit… Also is this the source of Daenerys not being able to sleep without the Reader next to her? Yes… Yes, it is.

Series Masterlist

The salty breeze of Dragonstone carries with it the scent of the sea, mingling with the distant cry of seabirds that circle the rocky cliffs, brushing across your cheeks in a phantom caress; its presence cool, but not cold, against your skin — a gentle reminder that summer was still hanging on even though its grip was beginning to weaken.

You had known it’d be a beautiful day from the moment you had awakened. A feeling that had only grown as the sun began to rise high into the sky and the world seemed to come alive underneath the splendor of its golden presence.

Even now, the sky was a deep blue, unmarred despite the growing bank of clouds on the horizon — holding an ominous presence as if the storm they promised would happen in only a matter of time, but, for the moment, they were fine with holding back, waiting until it was the perfect time to roll in. You had always known the weather within Westeros wouldn’t be like Essos. With the shimmering rays of gold and the endless crystalline expanse of the sky, but you hadn’t expected it to be quite so fickle.

Or perhaps, you muse, this rocky isle, not unlike the ones who had claimed it, had a temperament that was ever changing. Always one step away from a roaring storm or a clear sky.

Despite the overarching beauty of the day, and the initial lightness it brought to your chest, you couldn’t help the heaviness that was beginning to weigh you down as it continued to progress. Something that you could normally attribute to the simple knowledge of the shifting weather, but the tension coiling within you didn’t feel like the apprehension one would face in concern of a coming storm.

Its source, in fact, wasn’t one you could truly place — only heightening the tension further.

You’re currently seated on the edge of a cliff, a familiar perch where you often found peace, the waters of the bay below sparkling under the sun, a stark contrast to the gathering gloom ahead; one that soothes your wayward thoughts for the moment. Drogon soars above, his massive form casting a shadow that briefly blots out the light as he passes above you, continuing to dip and dive; his playful movements a reminder that despite his appearance, he was still young. His roars of joy, carrying easily upon the ocean wind, echoes across the bay, the familiar sound pulling your lips into a smile.

Rhaegal lay beside you, his large head near your lap, bronze eyes half-lidded in contentment. His breaths slow and rhythmic, the warmth of his body radiating through the cold stone beneath you, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the ridged scales of his brow; an action that causes Rhaegal to hum softly in response, a deeply resonate sound.

While Viserion, your golden boy, is curled up on the opposite side; large body coiled around you. An aureate gaze closed, but far from asleep — his breathing too measured, too conscious of your every move — and his attentiveness, even as he basked underneath the sun, soothed you. Leaning against his side, being lulled by the rise and fall of his chest against your back, you go back to watching Drogon dance upon the wind. Every now and then, you notice, out of your periphery, that Viserion’s tail flicked lazily, a sign of his growing restlessness; an emotion that was stemming from your own — even as you try to distract yourself with the world around you to halt it — due to the bond that you share. While you’re bonded to all of your sons, and love them as any mother would her children, the connection you have with Viserion goes a bit deeper; there’s an intrinsic understanding, one that goes beyond mere words. He knows that you’re troubled, even if he doesn’t know the cause, his continued presence is meant to soothe, to shield you from whatever is brewing within your heart, and you couldn’t be more grateful for him. For the love that he has for you.

The wind picks up slightly — a howl beginning to intertwine within it — bringing with it a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. Your eyes, as if pulled by some greater power, shift back to the horizon; to the dark clouds that continue to gather, seemingly growing thicker and thicker with each passing moment. It’s a sight that causes your previous sense of foreboding to make an instant reappearance, curling tightly within your stomach, and, in response, you press back into Viserion; seeking the warmth and reassurance only he could provide. The unease doesn’t subside, not in a manner you wish it would, as it decides to gnaw at the back of your mind instead; reminiscent of a splinter you couldn’t remove. An unsettling entity but one that you’d be able to handle given enough time and care; that’s what you hope, at least.

Looking down at the beach below, where a mixture of Dothraki and Unsullied work hauling Dragonglass and other needed supplies, the smallest of frowns furrow your brow. From this vantage point, and due to the simple fact that few were idiotic, and even fewer brave, enough to approach slumbering dragons — especially dragons that had one of their mothers nearby — left the area upon the cliff free of anyone else, you’re able to see how the few Northerners that had made the journey to Dragonstone were treating them; bodies tense, eyes narrowed in barely concealed agitation, whispered conversations taking place the moment they’re left to congregate amongst themselves, hands constantly reaching towards their hips for swords that aren’t present. It’s a sight that leaves a sour taste in your mouth and a protective outrage roaring within your chest.

The Dothraki and Unsullied did not ask for this war; did not ask to be treated with such obvious disdain from the people that supposedly needed their help. They had agreed to come to Westeros, to fight underneath the banner of House Targaryen, of Daenerys Stormborn, to reclaim the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister, but their loyalty, their faith, in their Khaleesi led them to where they are now. If the North is in such dire need of help why are they biting at the hand that’s offering it to them? 

Your brow furrows into an even more pronounced frown, but, before you’re able to delve even deeper into the thoughts that would, no doubt, dampen your already darkening mood, the sound of raised voices coming from behind you causes your attention to snap back to the world at large. Twisting, and leaning slightly to peer around Viserion’s head, you see Daenerys storming across the rolling grass with Tyrion following behind; even from a distance you can tell it’s a heated discussion. Tyrion is speaking once more, words likely chosen carefully, but whatever it is he’s saying it isn’t easing her agitation. You’re not able to see your dragon’s face, but you’re able to surmise what must be etched across it from memory, and Tyrion’s own expression, alone — eyes narrowed in determination, nostrils slightly flared, some amount of frustration evident, focused solely on her Hand.

As if she’s trying to bend him to her will through sheer force alone.

Not being able to hear their words doesn’t inhibit you from understanding what they’re discussing, your heart turning heavy at the realization. The plan to capture a White Walker had been a thorn in your side since it had been constructed — believing heavily that it was a gamble that relied on too many unknowns. That night, in your shared chambers, you had argued, even falling to the point of pleading, for Daenerys to take King’s Landing first; to solidify her claim and then use the might of the Seven Kingdoms to march North, but your words had fallen on deaf ears. Jon Snow, with his depictions of the Night King and the Army of the Dead, had shifted her focus entirely, convincing her that the real war lay beyond the Wall; not in the South.

At what cost? You remember asking her, in the quiet that had followed your discussion, after all the plans had been laid out. What would happen if our children got hurt? Or worse, killed? For a plan that rests on the hope that they might bring back a creature of myth?

Daenerys had tried to reassure you, warm hands cupping your face, lips gentle against your own before peppering lingering touches across your forehead, but the fear, like the multiple kisses that had been laid upon your skin, had lingered; a cold knot in your gut that refused to loosen.

Now, watching her argue with Tyrion, you can’t help but feel the fear twist into something sharper; something that bordered on anger. How could she risk so much for so little? How could she gamble the lives of your children — as you had heard the varying conversations about potential rescue missions — who had been with you both since the beginning, who had saved you more times than you could count, with such a plan?

Letting your eyes slip shut, trying to center yourself once more, you press a kiss to Viserion’s snout, a gentle rumble sounding softly in response. The clouds continue to gather, something you’re certain of despite your current blindness to them, but you force yourself to focus on the warmth of your sons; the steady breaths of Rhaegal and the comforting presence of Viserion.

Footsteps growing closer cause you to innately turn towards the sound — already knowing, by the lack of reaction from your sons, who it would be — and watch as Daenerys heads towards you; Tyrion still behind her with concern written across his face while Daenerys’ own was unreadable. Her approach causes the knot within your chest to loosen somewhat, as her presence has always wielded a calming influence unto you, but the tension within your shoulders grows just a bit more. You know that the coming conversation will not be an easy one, but it’s one that neither you, nor Daenerys, could avoid any longer.

She halts a few paces away, gaze softening when it lands on you. “There you are,” she greets, a note of warmth suffused within her tone; something that eases the tightness in your chest momentarily. It’s a fleeting entity, quickly remembering the subject matter behind the impending conversation, and taking notice of the determination within her violet depths. A sight that you’re all too familiar with, the burning resolve that has taken her through countless trials, the appearance of it being one that typically soothed you, but, with everything happening, it only deepens your concern.

“You’ve been arguing with Tyrion again,” you comment, trying to maintain a level of calmness that the roiling storm of emotions beneath the surface wished to disrupt.

The observation causes a soft sigh to fall from Daenerys’ lips, a delicate hand quickly rising to brush silver-gold strands behind her ear, while she moves to sit beside you; pausing only briefly for her gaze to linger on the forms of your shared children, before gentle violet finally settles back to you. “Tyrion thinks I’m being reckless,” she admits, the faintest creasing of her brow giving away the frustration she feels. “He just doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation.”

“Do you, Daenerys?” You rebuke, unable to keep the edge from your tone. “Do you understand what you’re asking them to do? What you’re risking?”

A spark of defiance roars into life within her gaze. “I’m not asking them to do anything I wouldn’t do myself.”

“That’s not the point.” Taking a breath through your nose, trying to maintain a level head, you continue. “The point is that this plan, this rescue mission you and your council have concocted, is too dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if one of our children gets hurt? Or worse?”

They’re questions you’ve asked before — countless times since hearing about the possibility of your Khaleesi heading North — and you’re certain they’ll be met by the same response.

Daenerys looks away, jaw clenched. “I can’t let them die.”

“You don’t even know if this will work,” you argue. “We didn’t know enough about the White Walkers, about their strengths or weaknesses, and those men left with that knowledge, understanding what they were getting into, because apparently one of those creatures may convince Cersei Lannister to help us.” Irritation lances through your heart. “Now, after all of that, you wish to head North, with our sons, to potentially rescue men that understood they may not come back once going beyond the Wall.”

“I have to try,” she replies firmly, eyes blazing within renewed determination. “If we do nothing, we’ll end up risking everything. The North, the South, everything we have ever fought for would be for nothing. If there’s even a chance that Cersei might listen, and that Jon Snow is still alive, and, with him, our only ties to the North, then I have to take it.”

You shake your head. “At what cost?” The old question, once again, falls from your lips, imploring Daenerys to actually hear it. “What will you do if they truly are gone? If, by doing this, our children are hurt?”

For a moment, the briefest crack appears in dragon-scaled armor, Daenerys hesitating, expression faltering as her vulnerability makes an appearance, but, before you can blink, it quickly buried beneath a resolved demeanor; one that has defined her since you’ve known her. “Every day I make choices that could mean the difference between life and death for thousands. I carry the weight of every decision, every sacrifice, but I cannot, will not, be paralyzed by fear,” she intones, even as her voice cracks ever-so-slightly, betraying the sense of fear she’s trying so hard to conceal. “I’ll do what I must. Like I have always done.”

Your heart clenches at the words; the anger you had been trying so hard to suppress flaring into something more intense, but, only by a small margin, you’re able to stay calm. “I’m not asking you to be paralyzed by fear, Dany. I’m asking you to consider what you’re risking. I’m asking you to think about what you’ll lose if this goes wrong,” you reiterate, reaching out for her, knowing how much physical touch means to her. “We can find another way. A way that doesn’t risk more lives.”

Daenerys only looks down at the proffered appendage for a moment before taking it in hers. “That’s something I never stop doing, ñuha perzys. I have considered every option, and I wish it were that simple,” she murmurs sorrowfully. “But the time for simple solutions is over. This is the only way.”

You pull your hand back, the warmth of her touch only deepening the growing ache in your chest, tension coiling in your shoulders. “And if it fails? If they’re already dead? What will you do then? If our children die in the pursuit of this mission? Will it be worth it? Will you be able to live with yourself?”

“I have to believe it will work. I have to believe that this is the way to save them. To save us all.”

Lips thinning into a line, her response pressing down onto you like a physical burden, you can’t help the strained quality within your voice. “I can’t do this.” The wind ghosts across your face, offering its own form of support for you to continue. “I can’t watch you risk everything, risk our sons, for something so uncertain.”

“I don’t want to lose them either. Of course, I’d never wish to lose our children.” Her voice cracks slightly at the thought of it. “But, I can’t stand by and do nothing, I can’t let those men die without trying to stop it.”

A long silence settles between you then, only the distant roar of the ocean against the surf, along with the occasional huff from either Rhaegal or Viserion, intercepting it, the tension palpable, its presence a heavy weight that neither of you can shake.

Finally, after another beat of silence, you let out a shaky breath, hands digging into the exposed skin of your forearm slightly, as you gather the strength needed to say what’s on your mind. “If you do this,” you begin, the words sour on your tongue, stomach twisting. “Promise me that you’ll come back. Promise me that you’ll bring them back.”

Daenerys looks at you then, the emotion within her eyes telling you she understood who you were referring to. That you weren’t asking for a promise to bring the men back — your words weren’t a plea for the plan to work; they were a mothers desperate attempt to ensure the safety of her children — and your Khaleesi doesn’t hesitate. “I promise,” she affirms. Even still, a weight has settled within you that wouldn’t become easier to lift until she returned back from the desperate attempt to right a wrong that wasn’t her fault. There wasn’t more to truly say after that, no argument that you could come up with that’d make her change her mind, so you settle, once more, into the silence that descends.

The storm on the horizon draws ever closer, dark clouds beginning to loom over the bay, while the wind picks up speed; whipping through your hair and clothes as if trying to pull you away. You’re aware of what she’s about to do, even if she hasn’t outright said she’d be departing now, and it absolutely terrifies you.

Daenerys stands, gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, before it shifts to the dragons. Knowing what is to occur, even if that doesn’t make it any easier to digest, you follow her lead, rising to your feet and move over to Viserion. Your precious boy lifts his head in response, bright eyes locking with yours, not unlike his other mother had done a moment prior, and you feel a pang of sadness deep within your chest. You reach out, hand resting against his cheek, the warmth of his pebbled scales seeping into your chilled skin. 

“Be safe, Prūmia,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek; Viserion nuzzling against you in response, a low rumble vibrating through his body. The sound being one of comfort, of reassurance, but it does little to ease the fear beginning to gnaw at your heart.

You move over to Rhaegal next, placing a gentle kiss to his nose. The soft huff, a warm gust of air that seems to sink deep into your soul, brings a small smile to life; despite the tears that were welling within your eyes. “Don’t do anything rash, Bāne.”

Finally, you approach Drogon, who had landed nearby, watching you with his crimson gaze. Once you’re near, he lowers his massive head, allowing for you to scratch the underside of his chin, a spot that has been his weakness since he was a hatchling, and you respond with a light chuckle of your own when he admits a huff of amusement — the closest thing, you’ve found, to laughter that a dragon can emit — the corners of his mouth seemingly lifting into a smile of his own. “Protect her, Mīsio.”

It’s a rare moment — even with your warring emotions — of levity in a time that feels anything but light.

Daenerys, simply watching as you say your farewells, meets your gaze steadily once you finally turn back to her, greeting you with a soft expression; the love she feels for you evident within pools of violet, but, underneath it all, hidden away in a place only you could find, there was sadness, genuine regret that she was parting with you mixing within it. It’s only when she steps closer, wrapping her arms around you in a much needed embrace, that the tension, you hadn’t even realized had been there, slackens. Her hold on you was tight, as if she was trying to anchor herself to you one last time before the storm took her away. Daenerys had always likened you to home; the one safe harbor she felt she had within this world. Where she could lay down her titles, her shield, and her worries, to truly be herself once more — simply Dany.

“I love you,” she whispers into your ear, voice trembling. “More than anything. Please know that.”

You press your cheek against hers, inhaling the familiar scent of the love of your life; a gentle fragrance of something sweet mixed with lavender, underscored by smoke and dragon fire. The duality of Daenerys Targaryen showcasing itself even within something so mundane. “I love you too,” you reply. “Always.”

Not wishing to let go, you cling to each other a moment longer, the world fading, as it always does, as you focus on the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart, but, all too soon, she pulls back, violet eyes glistening with unshed tears as she reluctantly steps away. Only to return, seemingly unable to stay away, to place a gentle kiss upon your lips, her words ghosting across them. "I will be back soon,” she vows. “You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

With one final embrace, and another brief kiss, Daenerys approaches Drogon, who had been waiting patiently, and climbs onto his back, the great dragon unfurling his wings with a powerful gust of wind; Rhaegal and Viserion following suit, their massive wings beating in unison as they rise into the sky.

You watch them, heart aching as they disappear into the horizon, get swallowed by the gathering storm, the weight in your chest nearly unbearable; a mixture of fear, sorrow, and an overwhelming sense of loss that you couldn’t comprehend. The smart thing to do would be to head inside, to find shelter from the oncoming storm, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you stand on the cliff's edge, the wind whipping through your hair, as you look in the direction of where the woman you love and your children vanished into the darkening sky.

A tear slips unbidden down your cheek and you don’t bother to wipe it away. The void within your chest, that had been created by the unceasing weight pressing upon it, threatened to consume you once you realized just how along you truly are now. Your children, alongside the love of your life, were heading into the unknown, and all you could do was stand, waiting within Dragonstone, and hope that they would return.

But, deep down, the sense of unease, the tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter, that continued to gnaw at you, was now settled like a stone in your gut; an unshakeable feeling that something terrible was about to happen settling over you.

For now, until your family returned to you, persevering was the only option — even if it meant burying the dark emotions welling up — and hope that Daenerys would keep her promise, that she would bring them back to you. That she would come back to you.

And, as the first rumble of thunder echoed over the bay, you closed your eyes, silently praying for the strength to face whatever was to come.

When the storm had rolled in, many within Dragonstone believed it would abate quickly, but it had only seemed to worsen as time wore on — as hours turned to days and those days turned to weeks — and, within that period there hadn’t been any news from the North.

It’s late. The kind of late that bleeds into the early hours of the morning, when even the wind is quiet, too tried to howl against the ancient castle; despite the storm still being an ever-present entity. Typically, it’s considered to be a tranquil hour to be awake, despite the earliness of it, and that the sky was still dark, but the silence of it was suffocating — pressing down on you with a weight that makes it hard to breathe. You had become too accustomed to silence, to the sound of your heartbeat and thoughts uninterrupted by anything else, and you absolutely detest it. When Dragonstone awakens — when servants, guards, and dignitaries alike travel through its halls — do you feel more at ease, because, at least when you hear them, you know you’re not truly alone.

The chambers you share with Daenerys, so shockingly cold without the presence of your dragon, to warm it, were dark, save for the faint embers that still valiantly clung to life within the hearth, and the stone walls seemed to close in around you. Ever since Daenerys had left this room had felt like a prison; each hour within it that passed stretching into eternity as you waited for word — any word — of Daenerys and your children. You had barely been able to sleep, being unable to banish the terrible images that haunted your dreams when you tried. Your dreams become consumed by what-if scenarios, each one darker than the last. You see them, your children, in your mind’s eye, falling from the sky, their magnificent wings torn and battered, fire extinguished as they plummet to the unforgiving earth below. You see Daenerys, silver-gold hair matted red with blood, the bright fierceness of her eyes dulled by the hand of death. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you prayed to the Gods to grant you mercy, even if it was only for a short while, those images wouldn’t stray far from your mind; they were relentless, merciless, in their endeavor to tear you apart from the inside out.

Still, even when you were awake, you found no solace, not a sense of peace. The idea of your family, all that you truly had within this world, flying into that forsaken land, facing dangers beyond comprehension, you couldn’t properly stomach it; couldn’t discern the varying emotions that had constantly been battling within you. Anger and fear had been your constant companion — Tyrion, Grey Worm, and Missandei tried to help but there wasn’t much they could do; not when you shut yourself off from the world — and, within that time you’ve spent with them, you understand that the majority of it, while directed towards the events as a whole, centered around Daenerys and her unwillingness to bend. Her fervent need to prove herself, to be the hero.

You know that Daenerys, for all of her pride in being a Targaryen, was weighed down by the actions of her father and brother, know that she desperately didn’t wish to become something that many had already foretold her being, that she was so afraid of becoming Queen of the Ashes. It’s something you detest — the fear that had been instilled into your ferocious dragon; clipping her wings the moment she had stepped ashore Dragonstone— and something you’ve been trying to dispel; never truly understanding why Daenerys would wish to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms if the common folk detested her so based simply off the actions of her forefathers.

Understanding all of that, knowing the insecurities that plagued her, you could see why Daenerys had made the decisions that she has, but you couldn’t understand why she was willing to risk the people that had already proved their loyalty, their unwavering devotion, to serve people that’d sooner call her the Mad Queen, the next coming of Maegor, then see her for what she truly was, to see beyond the fact that she shared blood with Aerys Targaryen.

Even still, knowing this, no matter how much it may squeeze your heart, you couldn’t help the growing chasm of anger that has settled within your gut at her actions. Wishing that, for once, she’d just let sleeping dragons lie, but, on the other hand, if she did, she wouldn’t be the woman you had fallen in love with, which is why a gnawing sense of fear had decided to accompany the anger in a sickening duo.

Daenerys had promised she would come back, that they would all return, but promises are fragile things, easily shattered by the brutality of war, by the merciless cold of the North, and the seemingly unending nightmare of the Night King’s army. Even still, her promise, her commitment to you, was the only thing you could truly still hold onto without falling apart, because, despite everything, you had faith in your Khaleesi, believing in her gave you the hope to believe that everything would turn out okay in the end.

Now, even in the dead of night, when the world is still, and the air is thick with the scent of salt and sea, as you lie awake staring at the ceiling, you hold onto that hope, to the one source of light that would guide you from the darkness. You’re not sure how long you lie there, caught between sleep and waking, your one shred of hope battling against the dark twisted dreams that wish to prey upon you, when you hear a disturbance: the creaking of the door, a faint rustling of fabric, as someone enters the room. And, without having to even look at, you know it is, you would always know. You could feel her presence like a healing salve to your soul, the warmth that radiates from her, the smell of smoke and ash with something sweeter, something distinctly Daenerys, that fills the air — replacing the scent of the sea.

You turn to look at her slowly, heart pounding, a strange mixture of relief and dread coursing through your veins. She’s back. She kept her promise. But, as you make out her form, standing there in the dim light, you know something is wrong.

Daenerys — the unstoppable force that brought many to heel, your dragon that burned with the fires of Old Valyria through her veins, who loves you with an ardency that rivaled the sun itself — looked broken.

There’s no other word for it: shoulders slumped, usually bright eyes dull and haunted, face drawn and pale. She looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders — more so than usual — and, for a moment, you can’t breathe.

She doesn’t say anything as she walks towards you, her movements slow, each step measured in a way you’ve never seen before, as if each one took an enormous amount of effort. The bed dips slightly as she sits on the edge of it, and you can see the way her hands were trembling, imperceptible if you had been anyone else, when she reached out for you. “I’m back,” she whispers, her voice so soft that it’s almost lost in the quiet of the room, but there’s something in her tone that makes your blood run cold.

You sit up, eyes searching hers for answers, for some kind of reassurance, but all you see is pain.

“Where are they?” The question slips out before you can stop it, fear clogging your throat making it even harder to breathe. “Where are the boys?”

Daenerys flinches at the words, at such a seemingly innocuous question, that you know within an instant. You know before she even says anything — understanding intrinsically where the aching hollowness had appeared from; a gaping void where your golden boy had once been — in response, but you can’t accept it. You won’t.

Violet eyes fill with tears, and she looks down at her hands, the one that had been abandoned by your own twisting in the fabric of the bedspread, as the other rests uselessly in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stops, the world stops, everything just stops as her apology hits you with the force of an arrow; the meaning behind it crippling in its intensity. The room, that had become your prison since she left, seems to close in on you: the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at her, waiting for her to take it back, to tell you it’s not true.

She doesn’t.

Daenerys just sits there, tears valiantly remaining in place, whole body trembling as if she’s going to shatter into a million pieces.

You shake your head. “No,” you whisper, refusing to believe that it could be true; willing it to not be true. “No, no, no, no…” The words spill out in a desperate wave, pleading as if you can somehow make reality change by denying it.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys repeats, voice thick with held back tears, and she reaches out for you once more, but you jerk away; the movement is violent, instinctive.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, sharp and harsh, tone filled with a venom you hadn’t known you were capable of. The grief, the anger, the pain, all crashing down on you at once; a tidal wave that threatens to drown you. “Say it. I want you to say the words”

Daenerys flinches at your ire, just barely, but enough for you to notice; to feel the faint sting of seeing her so shaken. Her lips part, as though she’s about to speak, but the words catch in her throat, and she finally looks away, unable to meet your gaze.

“Say it,” you repeat. A part of you needed to hear her say the words, because, you know, a small part of you would cling onto the shred of hope that it wasn’t true, that Daenerys must be mistaken, if she didn’t. “Say it, Daenerys!”

She still doesn’t turn to look at you, but her shoulders slump even more. “He’s gone. Viserion is gone.”

Why does expecting a blow not make it hurt any less? Why does knowing the pain is coming fail to lessen its sting? Your mind cries out as your heart begins to break. Is it because the expectation of the hit, of knowing what’s coming, evolves into its own kind of torture? Amplifying the pain as it echoes through your mind long before the blow ever truly lands.

You’re the one that flinches this time, the words piercing through you as easily as Valyrian Steel would flesh, and can’t keep the pained noise lodged within your throat trapped any longer; a noise that instantly has Daenerys reaching out for you, trying to comfort you as she has always done. Only this time you couldn’t stand to be near her, didn’t think you’d be able to handle her touch, not when your entire world had been thrown on its axis. Jerking away from her touch, as if it burned, you scramble off the bed, needing to put distance between you, needing a moment to breathe.

Daenerys stands in response, movements slow, hesitant, as if she was afraid that one wrong move will shatter whatever fragile thread that’s holding you together. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move closer even though you can tell she’s fighting her natural urge to do so, allowing you a moment, giving you an opportunity to sort through your thoughts. It’s something she had done since your friendship began — back when she hadn’t been the Khaleesi, hadn’t been what she is now, when she was a lost girl with a vindictive brother — when things got overly heated, overly emotional, and it never failed.

Until now.

Until you realized that the thoughts spiraling through your mind weren’t your own — not truly — as they were all poisoned by the darkness of your grief, of your anger, of your pain and bitterness. The longer you were left to listen to them now gave you more and more time to get lost under the sea of anguish that’s refusing to let you come back to the surface.

“How?” You don’t know why you’re asking, it’s not something you truly wish to know, but you just wanted the thoughts to stop, to let you breathe without reminding you that Viserion would never do so again. “How did it happen?”

Daenerys hesitates. “The Night King.” That you had surmised as there would be nothing in this world that would have saved Jon Snow if he had been the one to physically kill your son; him being a short-sighted imbecile notwithstanding. “H-He had a sp-spear—”

You don’t let her finish, you can’t let her finish, not when the imagery of those simple words alone was enough; the haunting dreams coming to fruition. The bubbling anger, that you had been trying to stave off since she had arrived, finally erupting. “I told you not to go!” You shake your head, turning away from her with your hands clenched. “I told you that this would happen!”

When Daenerys doesn’t respond, you turn back to look at her, seeing the tears that were now steadily making trails across fair skin, clearly having lost the battle that she had fought earlier by not letting too many tears escape. It’s a sight that should soften your heart — the woman you love more than anything in this world in clear anguish — and make you want to comfort her, because, it’s obvious, she’s lost too, but all it does is fuel the fire of your anger; something that causes another piece of yourself to wither away.

“How could you do this?” You demand, wanting to know, aching to know: your Dany wouldn’t have done this, your Dany would have tried everything before risking the lives of your sons for a fool's errand. “How could you risk them like that? How could you risk him?”

“I had to,” Daenerys replies. “I had to save them.”

Despite yourself you take a small step closer. “At what cost?” A wave of emotions rushes through you, burning your throat with grief. “At what cost, Daenerys? You’ve lost him! We’ve lost him!”

“I know,” she cries out, anguish palpable. “I know and I’m sorry, but I had to do it. I had to try.”

“But you didn’t have to risk him!” You scream, the dam within you finally bursting as tears stream down your face, your grief and anger consuming you whole. “You didn’t have to risk Viserion! He’s dead, Daenerys! He’s dead because of you!”

The words are out before you can stop them, before you can think about the impact they’ll have, and you watch as Daenerys recoils as though struck, eyes wide with hurt and shock. For a moment, the anger drains from you, replaced by a sickening sense of guilt, but it is too late to take it back; the damage has been dealt.

Daenerys takes a step back, the first time she had put distance between you instead of trying to close it, arms dropping back to her sides, an expression of heartbreak, with the barest hints of disbelief, directed at you. “Do you truly believe that this is what I wanted? That I wanted this?” She questions, voice quivering. “You think I wanted to lose him.”

‘No.’ You want to will the word through your lips, to make any sort of noise that’d indicate that you didn’t believe that — not truly — but, even if you had said it, you’re not certain if she would have heard.

“I did what I had to do,” she continues. “I did what I thought was right. We lost Viserion because of it, which will be something that I’ll live with for the rest of my life, but I had to make that choice. I had to do what I thought was best for all of us. For you, for them, for the world.”

“For the world?” You repeat, not even trying to dampen the bitter sarcasm laced within the words. “What about our world, Daenerys? What about our family?”

Her gaze softens, even though the tears remain ever present, and she takes a tentative step forward, reaching out for you again; bridging the gap that she has made earlier. “We’re still a family,” she insists, unwavering. “We still have Drogon and Rhaegal. We still have each other.”

You shake your head. “It’s not the same,” you whisper. The truth in those four words sends another lance of pain straight through your heart. “It will never be the same.”

“Please,” Daenerys begs, realizing that she was losing you, setting in; a desperate panic begins to take form across her beautiful face. “Please don’t push me away.”

How can you not? When her mere presence is a living reflection of the conflict warring inside of you; part of you, buried deep, wanting to reach out, to be held, while the other part wanted to make her hurt like she has hurt you, to get some form of justice for Viserion. So, you do, you push her away with a force that has her stumbling back, tears blurring your vision as you turn and flee from the room.

Your feet carry you down the cold, winding corridors of Dragonstone; shadows looming around you like specters. You don’t have a destination in mind, just the overwhelming need to get away, to be alone with your grief.

It isn’t until you reach a familiar door that you realize where you’ve been heading all along — a room deep within the heart of Dragonstone; where the remnants of the egg shells, the very shells from which your sons had hatched, are kept in separate, ornate cases. The sight of them is enough to send you fully over the edge, your knees buckling as you collapse onto the stone floor, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of your loss crashes down upon you.

Viserion.

Your sweet, gentle Viserion. You’ll never feel his warm breath against your skin again, never hear his soft purrs as he nuzzled into you, seeking comfort and affection. The bond you had shared, that indescribable connection, is gone, severed by the cruel hand of fate, by the cold touch of the Night King.

You reach out, fingers trembling, and brush against the case that holds the remnants of Viserion’s egg; the smooth, hardened shell that once contained the precious life that was now lost to you forever. The tears flow freely down your cheeks, dampening the stone beneath you, as you weep for your son, for the life that was so violently taken, for the gentle flame that had been put out too soon.

Tugging the box closer, your breath catches at the familiar sight of the cracked shell that Viserion had emerged from so long ago.

The shell was pale, a shimmering blend of cream and gold, almost ethereal in its beauty. It sits nestled in the box, as if cradled by the very Gods themselves, the cracks across its surface, that once promised the appearance of new life, are now jagged reminders of all you’ve lost. You reach out once more, fingers trembling even more as they brush against the surface, the coolness of the shell seeping into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you carefully lift the shell, memories flood your mind, each one yet another blow to your already broken heart. You remember the day Viserion had hatched, the first time you had seen him when Daenerys had emerged from the pyre, a miracle of life amidst the barrenness of the Red Waste. He had been so small, his scales soft and glistening, his eyes wide with wonder as he observed the world from near Daenerys’ feet, until his aureate gaze locked onto you. It was in that moment, you knew he was yours, your Prūmia, your beloved son.

You had watched him grow, from a curious hatchling to a majestic dragon, his pale scales shimmering like molten gold beneath the sunlight. He had always been the gentlest of the three, his temper calm, his touch tender. Where Dragon was fierce, and Rhaegal wild, Viserion was your peace, your warmth on the coldest nights, the soft presence that guided you when all seemed lost.

The shell feels heavier now — as if the weight of your grief had embedded itself into it — making it impossible to hold. A sob escapes your lips, raw and broken, the sound filling the room, echoing off the stone walls until it is all you can hear.

You close your eyes, cradling the shell to your chest, the way you once cradled Viserion when he was small enough to fit in your arms. Your mind is a storm, torn between the memories of his soft purrs, the way he could never get enough gentle scratches underneath his chin, and the knowledge that his lifeless body was now lost within the frozen landscape beyond the Wall.

“Prūmia,” you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The words feel hollow, wholly inadequate in the face of the overwhelming loss that has consumed you. They’re empty, meaningless, a feeble attempt to make sense of the senseless, to find solace in a world ripped apart. You press your forehead against the shell as if, by some miracle, you could draw him to you; as if your love could bridge the gap between life and death and bring him back.

But there is no answer, no soft purr, no warmth to chase away the cold that has settled into your bones. There is only the silence, the crushing weight of the reality that he’s gone, and you are alone within the room that used to represent life and love, but now could only ever be likened to one thing in your eyes.

A tomb.

In the darkness of your grief, you can almost convince yourself that you feel his presence, the ghost of his touch against your skin, the whisper of his breath as he used to curl around you in sleep, but when you open your eyes, there is nothing, only the shell in your hands, a reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.

Viserion was gone and, with him, a part of you died too.

The world is a blur of icy winds and burning cold, a barren wasteland where the air itself is laden with dread; a storm rages, tearing through the desolate landscape, howling its fury as it sweeps across ice and snow. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of fear and despair, as you search the endless white horizon for a glimpse of gold — his gold.

“Prūmia.” It’s a whisper on your lips, the name that had never been uttered without fondness was now intertwined with a darkness you couldn’t escape from; it’s a plea, a prayer, but the storm swallows your voice leaving you with nothing except the howling wind and biting cold.

Viserion was out there, somewhere within this forsaken land, a simple fact that you knew as surely as your heart felt the panic clawing at your insides. He’s out there, battling the storm, the ice, the cold — battling death itself.

And you are helpless to reach him.

You run, as you always do, feet pounding against the ice — slipping, sliding — as you race against the storm. Maybe this time will be different? Maybe you’ll be faster? Maybe you’ll be better? Each step feels like a lifetime, each heartbeat a desperate cry for time, for fate, for anything to have mercy on you. Your hands reach out, fingers trembling, aching to touch him, to feel his warmth once more; as if the very act would make him appear, would bring him back.

The world shifts around you, the ice cracks, and you’re falling — falling into the abyss of nothingness, into the frozen depths where hope dies.

You see him then, above you, flying through the storm, searching for you too. His wings beat with desperate strength, pale scales shimmering through the haze of snow and darkness. For a moment, just a fleeting blip of time, you feel relief washing over you like a balm. He’s there. He’s alive. He’ll catch you. He’ll—

Everything around you shifts once more, ripping you away from your one semblance of peace, tilting everything into chaos. Your body slams into solid ground once more, but you barely notice it, not being able to tear your eyes from the sky above you.

Darkness swarms around him, creeping up his massive form like tendrils of death, and you can only watch in horror, suspended in time while everything beyond seems to move too quickly, as the night closes in on him. His roar shatters the air, a sound of agony, of finality; you scream his name, the sound tearing from your throat like a roar of your own.

Viserion’s aureate gaze finally finds yours and, for a split second, everything stops — the storm, the wind, the world itself. In that moment, you see the fire within him, the life, the soul that is yours as much as it is his. You reach out with all that you are: your heart, your soul, your everything, trying to keep him with you.

But ice, as you have found, is relentless; it strikes with lethal precision, piercing through the fire, freezing it from the inside out. Viserion’s roar turns into a strangled cry, his wings faltering, body writhing in the throes of death. The golden light in his eyes dims, flickers, and then — like a candle snuffed out by the cold — it vanishes.

You scream, heart shattering into a million pieces, as he falls from the sky; his massive form crashing into the icy ground with a sound that rips the world apart.

Running to him isn't even an action you registered doing, it was just innate within, instinctual to the most basic degree. You had always come running when any of your children had gotten hurt — tending to their aches and pains, the majority of which being healed by a simple kiss to the affected area — but, as you fall to your knees beside him, you know that this won’t be something you can fix with love, with tender affection.

Your hands reach out to his lifeless body — being unable to not at least try; even though you’re aware it would never work — and shudder at the coldness you find. The ice spreads, creeping over his golden scales, turning them to blue, to white, to nothing. You try to fight it, try to warm him with your touch, try to bring him back from the depths of the chill coursing over him.

But there was no bringing him back from where he’s already been lost.

His golden eyes are closed, his chest still, his fire extinguished, and you are left with nothing but the cold, the darkness, and the empty, hollow ache that gnaws within you.

Another scream rips through the air, but this one is a completely different entity. It’s not a scream of fear, or of pain; it’s one of rage, of a fury so deep you felt like you’d never find the bottom of it, of a mother’s desperate anguish at the loss of her child.  It echoes through the void, reverberating through the emptiness, through the nothingness, tearing at the fabric of the world itself.

The world doesn’t care. It keeps spinning, keeps turning, oblivious to your loss, your grief, your pain.

And, in that moment, as the ice claims Viserion’s body completely, as the cold creeps into your bones, you know one thing with absolute certainty.

This is all your fault.

You failed him.

You were supposed to protect him, to keep him safe, to be the mother he deserved, but you didn’t.

You let him go. You let him fly into the storm, into the darkness, into death.

Now he’s gone.

The darkness closes in around you, the storm howling its triumph, and you are left with nothing except for the icy void that has taken Viserion from you — that now represents your life without him.

You fall into it, letting it claim you, letting it consume you, because without him, there is nothing left.

Awakening with a start, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of the nightmare cling to you, a suffocating shroud of grief and despair, is something you’ve become all too familiar with. The room around you is dark, cold, unfamiliar — the walls pressing in around you like the ice that claimed Viserion.

With your body still trembling, you sit up, skin damp with sweat, and you try to shake off the nightmare even though you know it’s no use. The images are burned into your mind, seared into your soul: Viserion’s lifeless eyes, his body turning to ice, his fire snuffed out by the cold — they haunt you, refusing to let go.

You bring your hands up to your face, trying to steady your breathing, trying to calm the storm raging within you, but the void is still there at the end of it all; still gnawing hungrily at every scrap of weakness it can find, leaving behind a hollow ache that nothing could fill. The cold still lingers over you — icy tendrils creeping over your skin, freezing you from the inside out — and you rub your arms to chase it away but, like with all of your actions, it does nothing. Yet another cruel reminder of what you’ve lost.

Prūmia.

The name is a whisper within your heart, a desperate plea to the Gods to bring him back, to undone what has been done, but you know it’s futile. The Gods are cruel, indifferent to your pain, to the loss that still doesn’t feel real.

Viserion is gone and nothing can bring him back.

Not being able to handle being in bed any longer, you swing your legs over the side of it, bare feet hitting the cold stone floor, sending a jolt down your spine. The room still hasn’t become familiar to you, even after the two days you had been using it, a level of coldness remaining that you couldn’t shake, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort of the chambers you shared with Daenerys, but you couldn’t stay there. Not after—

You can’t even think about it. The pain is too much, the grief too raw, a wound that refuses to heal.

Rising from the bed, not even surprised anymore by the trembling of your legs — your body weak from the weight of what your grief has done — you make your way over to the small window that overlooks the sea. Moonlight reflects off the waves, casting an eerie glow over the water, but you don’t see it, not truly, not as you once would; all you see are the barest hints of darkness, like a veil of sorrow draped over the night. The water, once a canvas for the moon’s gentle touch, now seems a restless sea of shadows, each ripple a whisper of your pain. Argent light, fractured and cold, dances on the waves like the fleeting echoes of a forgotten lullaby. While the serenity of the night has become a vast, indifferent expanse, a mirror reflecting the hollow cavern of your grief, where each shimmering wave is a silent testament to the void left by Viserion’s absence.

The sharp pain of your nails digging into your forearm is a welcome distraction, one that helps pull you from the void, even if it was only for a minute, and you drag them down, leaving red welts in their wake. It’s a fleeting sense of pain, but it’s barely a whisper compared to everything else.

Your thoughts spiral, a whirlwind of guilt, of anger, of pain. You should have done more. You should have protected him. You should have been the mother he deserved.

You failed him just as you have failed yourself.

Tears come then, hot and bitter, sliding down your cheeks in silent streams. You don’t bother to wipe them away; they are just another small comfort that you’ve been able to find for yourself, a release, a way for you to let some of the pain escape.

It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, but it was something.

Cold stone greets your back when you can’t find the strength to stand straight anymore, your body beginning to shake with the force of your silent sobs, as another wave of grief washes over you, drowning you in its icy depths. There’s no solace, no comfort, no reprieve, at least not you’ve been able to find; only the void, the darkness, and the unbearable weight that seems to only get heavier as time went on.

You can’t fight it, you’re not sure if you even want to, not when it’s all you have left of him: this grief, this sorrow, this endlessly aching pain.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, leaning against the wall with the last vestiges of your strength, body still trembling. Time had lost its meaning long ago — hours blending into one endless stretch of darkness and despair — but the tears eventually came to a gradual halt, leaving you drained. The void is still there, feasting away, but it has dulled somewhat; leaving behind a numbness that is almost worse than the agony.

While the agony hurt, fierce and relentless, it was a constant, burning reminder of what you had lost; it was sharp, immediate, and painfully real, a torrent of raw emotion that you could still grasp and confront. Now, the pain has given way to a familiar numbness that seeps into every corner of your being, a heavy, suffocating silence that drowns out even the sharpest cries of grief. This numbness was insidious — it doesn't allow you to feel the sting of loss, but instead wraps you in a cold, unfeeling shroud. Stripping you of the ability to mourn, to scream, to find any kind of release; an absence of feeling that gnaws at you, leaving you stranded in a void where even the pain is too distant to touch. It’s a feeling that makes every moment feel like a slow drift through an endless abyss where nothing can penetrate or soothe the emptiness, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of being lost and alone.

Pushing away from the wall, as if trying to distance yourself from the feelings, or lack thereof, plaguing you, you make your way back to bed on unsteady legs. The sheets are cold, unwelcoming, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Crawling beneath them, curling into a ball, your body innately searching for the warmth that could only ever be provided by one person, you will sleep to take you. It’s a pitiful attempt, you’re aware of this, but you can’t bring yourself to stop trying — not if it meant that you might finally be fast enough.

You turn on your side, conceding to the lost battle to find sleep for the time being, and stare at the wall, watching the shadows dance across the stone. You know you should go to her, to Daenerys, but you can’t. Not with everything that’s happened, not with the anger still rising to the surface every time your mind drifted to her.

So, you stay here, in this cold prison you had created for yourself, because it’s easier that way. Blaming Daenerys was easy, being angry at her was simple, but it wasn’t the only reason you had locked yourself away; it wasn't the only reason why you’re haunted by the ghost of your precious boy.

You should have stopped her. You should have convinced her to stay at Dragonstone. You should have kept firm, not bending to her will, or, at the very least, convincing her that all three of your sons needn’t have gone.

You should have done something.

Instead you had done nothing and Viserion was dead because of it.

It’s a truth that you can’t bear to face during the light of day — not when it was so much easier to blame her, when you can get lost in the angry spite that erupts within you.

Staying in this room, locking yourself away — letting them consume you — is the only thing that feels right. It’s the only thing that feels like it would ever be enough to atone for what you’ve lost.

For what you’ve done.

Days pass in a blur, each one blending into the next, indistinguishable from the last, causing you to lose track of time, lose track of everything that isn’t beyond the four walls you’ve trapped yourself within. The world outside your small chamber might as well not exist — there’s nothing there for you, nothing that can pull you from the depths of your despair.

You eat little, sleep even less, and spend most of your time staring out the small window; watching the waves crash against the rocks below, their ceaseless rhythm a dull backdrop to the storm raging inside of you. You don’t leave the room, don’t venture out into the halls of Dragonstone, don’t seek out anyone — especially not her.

She’s worried about you. Even after the fight, even after your continued silence, you can still feel her presence outside your door, hear the soft footsteps as she lingers just beyond the threshold, hesitating uncertainty. Characteristics that were so unlike her it nearly made you weep for an entirely different reason. You know she wants to come in, to comfort and hold you, but you can’t bear it. Can’t stomach the thought of being near her, of feeling the icy numbness transform into raging anger, as you try to come to terms with the part she played in Viserion’s death.

It was her need to save everyone that caused this, your mind hisses. If she had just heeded your words, if she had just listened to you for once, this wouldn’t have happened.

The spiteful anger, the ferocity that scorched through your veins, even if it has been held back by chains, as you don’t wish to unleash something you don’t know if you’ll be able to control, isn’t one you’ll ever get used to, but it’s one that offers you some form of solace from the numbness and unending cycle of grief and pain. Pacing your room in controlled anger, fists clenched at your sides, was much more bearable than sobbing in a ball underneath the covers of the bed.

But you hadn’t pressed her on it either. You didn’t let her know what you were feeling. If you had shown her what you were feeling, if you had shared that with her, maybe she would have listened. The other part of your mind whispers, the part that had been progressively getting beaten back to the recesses of it as the anger began to take over. Neither of you knew this would happen. How could you? Go to her. Be with her. Grieve with her.

You don’t. You push the pleading words away, ignoring the ache of your heart, as you push the rest of the world away with them; letting the silence wrap around you like a shroud.

Not that it gives you any reprieve. The silence was also your enemy — as it’s in the quiet moments, when the world is still, that the memories come; unbidden, unwelcome, dragging you back into a nightmare.

You see his eyes — golden, warm, full of life — turning cold, lifeless, as the ice claims him. You hear his roar — strong, fierce, filled with fire — turn into a strangled cry of pain as death takes him. You feel his warmth, his presence, his soul — so intricately intertwined with your own — fade into nothingness.

Digging your nails into your arms, into your legs, anywhere you can reach, as you tried to feel anything besides the gaping hole inside you, but the pain is fleeting — it’s not enough to keep the darkness at bay for long; not when the pain is done by your own hands and not its own.

The room felt smaller tonight; the walls closer, the air more frigid, the festering emotions welling with you more pressing. From the small window — your only connection to the outside world — you can see that the moon has begun its ascent, casting pale silver light onto the world below. An almost eerie silence descending upon the small chambers you have made into your sanctuary, despite the crashing of waves on the rocks below, the faint whistling of the wind, you’ve grown used to the silence, to the empty numbness that it typically brought, but something feels different.

It’s not until a bolt of anger shoots through you, sudden and sharp, like the crack of a whip against your skin, that you understand that the most fiery of the emotions that had been growing within you — the one you had tried to control more than the others, even if it was always present — had been silently working its way through the tight bonds you had held it in; choosing this moment, this silent night, to finally break free; one that promised only more destruction.

You try to calm yourself, to take a deep breath and wrangle the anger back into its cage, back where it belongs, but it only flares hotter in response, stronger in its defiance to not be leashed any longer. Like a wildfire catching the wind. Clenching your fists, nails biting into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract you enough to allow your anger to be reined back in, but not even the subtle sting could ground you.

The fire within you has been smoldering for too long and now that it’s finally had a chance to ignite you couldn’t stop it.

Why did she go beyond the Wall? Why did she risk him, risk everything? The questions that have plagued you for days spin around in your mind with no relief, no answers. You know the reasoning that Daenerys had given you, but it never felt good enough — never the exact words that you needed to hear on why she had risked it all on something that would obviously end in some manner of death.

You’ve isolated yourself, hoping the distance would dull the sharp edge of your grief, of your bitterness, and fierceness of your anger, that staying away from Daenerys so she wouldn’t ignite the anger that’s been lit all by itself.

Pacing the room, each step heavy with the weight of your emotions, hoping that the repetitive movement that you’ve grown used to would soothe you in some way, but the restless motion seems to agitate you further. The chamber feels too small, too cold, too far removed from the life you once had. From her.

Because, no matter how angry you are with her, no matter how much a part of you hated her for the part she played in Viserion’s death, you still needed her like the air you breathed.

It’s a realization that strikes through you like lightning, a sudden, almost violent, force that ignites every nerve, feeling it burn through your chest, a molten heat that rises to your throat. Now unleashed fully, it overwhelms the grief, filling the hollow space inside you with something sharp, something dangerous.

Your hands tremble, breath quickening, as the anger flows through, unbound from its chains, feeling the heat radiating throughout your body, and, before you know it, you’re moving — feet carrying you swiftly toward the door. 

You don’t think as the anger propels you down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, each step harder than the last, until you reach the chambers you once shared with Daenerys. The place that had been yours together, now nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve lost.

Without pause, knowing if you faltered you’d self-destruct in a different way, you push open the door to the chambers, the heavy wood creaking under your forceful shove. The room inside is dim, lit only by the flickering flames of the hearth. She’s there, seated by the fire, her silver-gold hair catching the light as she stares into the flames, lost in thought.

For a moment, she doesn’t notice you, and you stand there, seething, your heart pounding with the force of your anger and pain, and, for a brief moment you believe that just looking at her would be enough to soothe the flames within you, but the moment she looked up, her violet eyes meeting yours, something snapped inside of you.

You don’t give her time to speak, to offer apologies or explanations; even as she stands up to greet you properly. You don’t want to hear them. You can’t bear to.

In an instant, you close the distance between you, your body colliding with hers in a forceful, desperate motion. She gasps, her breath catching as you press her against the wall, your hands finding purchase on her waist, fingers digging in harder than you mean to. You’re trembling, the anger boiling just beneath the surface, and all you can think is that you want to forget. You need to forget, even if it’s just for a moment.

Need to forget the warmth of Viserion’s gaze, the sound of his loving croon as he nuzzled you, the way his scales sparkled so ethereally underneath the sun… The way you had felt the bond snap within your heart — leaving you adrift, untethered from what you had always believed would be there.

Daenerys looks at you, her expression startled, her lips parted as if to speak once more, but you don’t let her, can’t let her; silencing whatever words she might have uttered with the heat of your body pressed against hers, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

Her hands come to rest on your shoulders, hesitant, unsure, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. The rage, the grief, it’s all too much, and you need something, anything, to drown it out. You don’t care that it’s rough, that it’s unrelenting — knowing that Daenerys would be able to push you off if she didn’t wish for your attention; that, even in your darkness, you’d stop the moment Daenerys wished for you to do so — you just need to feel something other than the crushing, unbearable void that grown larger as the days went by.

You lean in, your forehead pressing against hers, nose gently grazing her own, breaths coming in ragged bursts. She can feel the tremors in your body, the raw emotion barely contained, and her hands, though gentle, feel like fire on your skin, fueling the storm inside you.

“Please,” Daenerys murmurs, voice trembling with the weight of her own pain. “Talk to me. Let me help.”

You can’t — talking won’t help.

Words won’t bring him back, and, as of right now, the only thing that feels real is the heat between you, the desperate need to lose yourself in something other than the pain. Your fingers tighten on her waist, your breath harsh against her neck as you wait for her to take charge; to be your Khaleesi.

She doesn’t disappoint.

Without warning, she crashes her lips against yours; an action that causes your heart to flutter in your chest — not out of love, but out of the need to forget, to make the pain go away, and finally receiving that release. It’s a desperate kiss, full of anger and need, your hands rising to fist in her hair as you pull her closer, demanding more.

Needing more.

Daenerys gasps into the kiss, her hands gripping your shoulders, body pliant, yet unyielding, against yours — a duality that only she could possess. She doesn’t push you away, doesn’t fight you, simply letting you take what you need, her lips moving against yours in a way that only feeds the fire burning inside you; tongue grazing against your own as she sought to taste you after so long apart. Her own desperation became apparent.

Even as your bodies pressed together, as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, of the warmth seeping into your skin from every inch of you she caresses, the pain still lingers, just beneath the surface. The anger, the grief, was still there, simmering, waiting to pull you back under, and you refuse to let that happen.

Your fingers, that were still woven through the silky strands of her hair, tug her head back, forcing Daenerys lips away from you own; a snarl of displeasure rumbling from your dragon’s throat at the added distance, but the look in your gaze must have halted her from reclaiming your lips in a feverish embrace. “Claim me.”

Make me forget…

The force in which Daenerys collides with you again, fingers digging more incessantly into your waist, causes you to stumble back, only her arms keeping you steady against her solid form, as she descends upon you with a fervor that nearly takes your breath away. Her lips traveling down the length of your neck, tongue and teeth clashing in a heated battle to ensure you wouldn’t forget her presence, even after she had pulled away, down towards your breasts.

Daenerys kissed as much skin as your dress would allow, small noises of displeasure rumbling from the back of her throat when the fabric of it impeded her progress on tasting you further, the frustration mounting in a manner that Daenerys was typically able to temper, but it had been too long since she held you in her arms, since she had you squirming beneath her as waves of ecstasy cause you to clench around her length.

It’s an image that causes a hint of darkness — lust mixed with her natural possessiveness — to flicker through her violet gaze, giving you all the warning you needed, when, with a soft grunt, Daenerys simply gripped the thin material of your bodice and ripped it apart; exposing your heaving chest for her hungry eyes.

“That’s better,” Daenerys purred, mostly to herself, as she lowered her head to take a nipple into her mouth; biting the hardened tip before she soothed it with the warmth of her tongue. Your dragon, ever the thoughtful lover, giving your neglected breast much needed attention with her hand; slender fingers rolling a hardened peak in the exact way that caused your back to arch, a moan catching in the back of your throat. The halted noise causes Daenerys to bite down on the underside of your breast — teeth sinking into the tender flesh, ensuring you’d have her mark for days. “None of that, ñuha perzys, I want to hear you sing, I want to hear all of your pretty noises.”

The sound that’s released from you when Daenerys finally pushes you down onto the large bed, her undershirt hanging open, revealing full breasts that caught the eye, but didn’t hold your attention like the growing hardness within her breeches, is practically wanton in nature — a noise that belonged in a pleasure house that the ancient stronghold of the Targaryen legacy.

With your dragon hovering above you — lithe arms bracketing your head — the darkness recedes, the flaming entity that is your anger transforming into burning lust. Your hand trails down her chest, briefly tweaking a hardened nippled before continuing, descending until you got to the laces of her breeches, making quick work at unfastening them in order for you to slip your hand inside.

Hardened warmth greets your palm as you grip Daenerys’ throbbing member — an action that causes her to hiss sharply through her teeth, hips flexing as she tries to hold off from intuitively thrusting forward — ensuring you had her by the base of it.

“You would do anything to bury yourself in me, wouldn’t you?” Even if your core clenched at the thought of being stretched by Daenerys’ thickness, you wanted her to work for it. This night was about your pleasure, about lust and desire being stronger than anger and grief. “To have me mewling beneath you as fill me again and again.” Each word is coupled by a stroke of your hand, feeling the way Daenerys began to tremble under your touch, clearly fighting herself to hold back, to let you run the show for the moment; a response that is rewarded by a quick swipe of your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum down the rest of her shaft to give you an easier time. “Answer me, Daenerys, or I’ll stop and you’ll have to deal with this on your own.”

The spark of fire that ignites within the violet depths sends a powerful jolt to the apex of your thighs, more wetness appearing because of it, as you know you’ll be paying for this in the best possible way later, but Daenerys, not wanting to even take the chance of you leaving, finally relents. “What will you have me do, vāedar hontes?”

Instead of answering her vocally, your hand unlatches from her cock, giving you a clear view of the wetness clinging to your fingers as you bring them to your mouth sucking off Daenerys’ essence; loving the salty, yet slightly sweet, flavor. It’s a sight that causes Daenerys’ eyes to darken further, but you don’t give her time to say anything, your fingers popping out from your mouth as you shift to grip the back of her neck, pushing her downward to where you needed her most.

“Put that talented mouth to use, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys bites your hip bone in retaliation, the sharp sting being soothed with her tongue after a beat, as her mouth trails lower; veering away from your aching center to lavish attention to the trembling thighs. Peppering kisses on the heated flesh, leaving more marks that’d remind you she had been there, as she cleaned the wetness from them, humming lowly at the taste.

A wet kiss pressing against sensitive skin, right next to where you need her the most, a shiver wracks your body, goosebumps rising all over. Gentle puffs of air greets your overheated flesh as Daenerys peers up at you between your legs, ensuring that you’re watching her as she takes her first lick through your slit; from top to bottom and back again.

Daenerys’ hands, sturdy with slight callouses from gripping onto Drogon, glide over your thighs to keep you held open for her; in the next moment it seems as if her entire mouth covers your center, tongue lashing across the little bundle of nerves that makes your entire body quake, before barely dipping into your entrance. You knew that Daenerys probably wished to tease you, to prolong your pleasure as she typically does, but it had been too long since she last had you — since she had felt you cum in her mouth, since she had been buried inside of you, since she had felt you falling apart in her arms — and, selfishly for once, she refuses to wait, her aching length getting little relief from the thick blanket beneath her.

Moans escape your lips brokenly when Daenerys begins to scoop her tongue inside of you, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts of Daenerys’ talented tongue, the sound of Daenerys’ clear enjoyment at the act — soft hums, the clear sight of her swallowing your juices, and a hooded expression on her beautiful face — only adds to the intensity of the entire act, heat pooling with more fervor as two fingers begin to stimulate your clit.

Needing Daenerys closer, you thread your fingers through silky locks, tugging her further into you as you continuously roll your hips. “Fuck,” you cry out, a sharp keen ripping itself from your throat. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

A familiar pressure was building in your core — the trembling of your thighs keying Daenerys into what was about to occur, her efforts doubling as she latches onto the small bundle and sucks.

Overwhelming pleasure courses through you, mouth falling open in a silent scream, as your climax finally crashes through, tilting the world on its axis as you buck into Daenerys’ mouth. The earlier intensity from her tongue turning gentler as she helps you down from you high, softly cleaning you up, groaning headily at your taste, before she pulls away completely; resting her cheek on your thigh as she looks up at you.

She looked completely debauched — slick shining wetly on her face, hair in complete disarray from your hands, face slightly red from her efforts — but she didn’t seem to care in the slightest; not as crawls up you body, taking a nipple briefly into her mouth, sucking harshly, before she settles firmly on top of you.

“I believe it’s my turn now,” she husks, barely giving you a moment to react before she’s fully sheathed within you — your wet heat stretching to accommodate her thickness — a moan leaving you just as a soft groan escapes Daenerys. “Perfect.”

Daenerys, knowing you didn’t want soft or gentle tonight, not with the way you had come to her, sets a brutal pace from the beginning; where it was almost imperceptible to notice when her cock wasn’t within you, thrusting so hard she hit the sweet spot within you over and over again. Your back was officially off the bed as you cling tightly to Daenerys’ back, nails sinking into fair skin, as you had torn her undershirt off ages ago, as broken moans keep falling from your lips, barely able to take a proper breath as your dragon refuses to falter.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, intercepted by a mixture of low grunts and high-pitched moans, as the air thickened around you; mingling both of your scents into a heady concoction that caused you to instinctively tighten around Daenerys’ rigid length. An action that causes Daenerys to press her face against your neck with a low groan, teeth digging into your shoulder, as if she was keeping you in place, as she continued to rut against you; your walls continuously milking her, trying to keep her inside for as long as you could, before she plunged back in, and the process continued.

Needing to do something your mouth, as you could feel the urge to talk, as you typically did when your Khaleesi was lost in her passion like this, but knowing that you weren’t here for that — you didn’t come here for normal, you came here for Daenerys to fuck you until you forgot everything — so you force Daenerys away from your shoulder and claim her lips in a sloppy kiss; tongues battling as teeth clash. It was raw, dirty, and completely what you needed as mewls continued to escape, Daenerys unrelenting as your pleasure grew higher and higher — until the familiar peak was in sight.

Daenerys grips the rumpled blanket next to your head as her pace begins to speed up, feeling the way your walls were beginning to flutter, more wetness coating her cock, as a familiar heat begins to build within her own body, but she wouldn’t release until you did. “Come for me, ñuha perzys,” Daenerys whispers hotly against your ear, biting at the lobe as she jerks harshly against the sensitive spot within you. “Let me feel you tighten around me.”

It was as if your body has been waiting for Daenerys’ permission, waiting to feel your dragon’s warm breath against your skin as she whispered sinful words to you, as a cry rips itself from deep within your chest as your body spasms, walls tightening to such a degree that Daenerys couldn’t even thrust anymore — not unless she wished to potentially hurt you — but her own orgasm soon follows, lithe form hunching over you as strong jets paint your insides white with her seed, hips slightly jogging in order to get it as deep as she possibly could. The feeling — of her warmth steadily filling you — only prolonged your own release, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your vision went completely white. Leaving you floating in a void between pleasure and the real world.

When you come back to, chest heaving in exertion, skin gleaming with sweat, you notice that Daenerys had shifted positions; having leant back so you were now straddling her lap, her slowly softening cock still within you, as Daenerys soothingly ran her hands up and down your spine. An action she always did in order to help you settle back into your body, a lovingly gentle action that causes a chaotic array of emotions to run through you, as Daenerys hums an older Valyrian hymn against your ear.

But it was too soft, too much, as the familiar dark emotions that had been lurking beneath the lust and flames of desire, began to make a reappearance. So, you scratch down Daenerys’ back, causing her humming to stutter to a halt, and begin to roll your hips, feeling the way her length began to immediately harden within you, claiming her lips with your own — tongue immediately requesting access so you could get lost in the taste, in the feeling, of her.

You needed to forget and, as Daenerys began to respond with her own thrusts into your core, you knew that this was the only way you’d be able to do so.

A cocoon of darkness, is what you become aware of first, finally pulling yourself from the light slumber that your earlier passion had sent you into, embers from the dying hearth sending small slivers of orange to dance across the stone walls; while the air is thick with the lingering heat of your bodies, sheets still tangled around your legs, dampened by sweat. Lying next to Daenerys, chest heaving, skin still humming from the intensity of what had just occurred, you take note of the aftermath your coupling had wrought across the bed; rumpled linen, pillows cast to the stone floor, sheets strewn in a manner that only came from the most intense of passion. It’s a chaos that aptly matches the turmoil in your heart.

Daenerys shifts beside you, breath slowing, skin warm against where she presses against your own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, her very presence, so familiar to you; yet she had never felt farther away.

Once this would have been enough.

Once the quiet moments after lovemaking would have brought peace; a refuge from the outside world that no one but the two of you could ever enter. 

Now, with everything that has happened, the peace is unattainable, shattered by the memories that haunt you.

The anger that had driven you to her, the overwhelming grief that had spiraled into fury, has been temporarily sated. It’s something you can still feel — a dark cloud on the edge of your consciousness that has decided, for the moment, to remain elusive until it decides to rain hell upon your world once more — however you’re semi-secure in the knowledge that it had been soothed for now. You have tried everything to escape it — drown it in drink, bury it under layers of numbness, letting it loose to the winds in an agonized cry — but nothing has worked.

Not until now.

Not until this moment — a moment enshrouded with the raw, physical connection alongside the woman you love with your entire being.

The woman you blame for your pain.

It leaves you feeling sick with the knowledge that everything you had tried to grasp, to gain control over, had already been out of reach, lulling you into a false sense of security, allowing you to take without thought; the guilt of using Daenerys to temper the roaring typhoon of emotions within your body is yet another emotion you don’t wish to deal with. That you don’t know how to deal with.

Closing your eyes, willing the tears that sting the corner of them to stay at bay, wishing, with every fiber of your being, that you didn’t feel this way. You didn’t want to be angry with her. You didn’t want to blame her. You didn’t want to have all of these dark emotions swirling within you. The way you felt for Daenerys had never been eclipsed by any other emotion except love — by the Gods how you love her — but that very love is now tainted with the bitterness of loss, of a stinging sense of betrayal, and the fiery anger you can’t seem to shake. It festers inside you, feasting on all of the soft parts leaving nothing except a hard exterior behind, turning every moment of closeness into a reminder of what you’ve lost.

You turn your head to look at her, heart aching at the sight; silver-gold hair spills across her pillow in a wild halo, lips swollen from your kisses, violet eyes half-lidded in the aftermath of your intimacy. She looks peaceful, ethereally beautiful, and for a moment, as you observe the love of your life, you almost forget: the pain, the anguish, the grief, the anger. For just a moment you allow yourself to believe that things were as they used to be; before the Wall, before Viserion, before everything changed.

Daenerys moves once more, her hand now resting on your chest, and you feel the warmth of her touch seeping into your skin. It’s comforting — in a supremely twisted way given the raging emotions within you and the state your relationship is currently in — to feel her there, to know that she’s real, that she’s here with you. Your eyes slip shut once more, letting the sensation wash over you, part of you hoping this contact will help soothe the burgeoning anger, trying to hold onto this fleeting moment of peace.

“I missed spending moments like this with you,” she whispers, her voice soft, barely more than a breath. “When it’s just us and the rest of the world fades away; nothing else matters in the end.”

The words are innocent, a simple reflection on the time you’ve spent together, on the love that has bound you together, but they’re an unintentional dagger to the heart. How can she speak of moments like this like nothing has changed? How can she talk about the world not mattering when your own has been torn apart? When Viserion is gone and the emptiness he’s left behind is all you can feel?

A surge of anger, that you’ve been desperately trying to suppress, rushes to the surface, sharp and searing. The brief moment of peace you had found within her arms shatters — leaving you raw and exposed. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend that everything is alright; that her touch is enough to keep the darkness at bay. Feeling all the negative emotions at once — the loss, the bitterness, the helplessness — drives you out of the bed, tearing yourself from the loose embrace.

Daenerys sits up, alarm flashing in her eyes as she watches you scramble to your feet; movements frantic, desperation tinged within each motion, as you rush to try and escape. “What’s wrong?” She asks, concern so apparent within her tone, but you didn’t think you could respond to her if you wanted to; not having the wherewithal to explain the storm that rages inside you.

You need to get away, to put distance between yourself and the source of your pain, but before you can reach the door, Daenerys is standing before you, blocking the way. Sometimes you forgot how quick she could be if she had good enough reason to be; having already pulled on the tunic she had previously discarded.

“Don’t run from this,” Daenerys pleads, taking a hesitant step closer. “Don’t run from me.”

It’s an understandable request given the situation, and the years you have spent together, but it’s not one you can acquiesce to. You can’t face her right now; not with everything that’s boiling up within you. “I can’t do this,” you manage to choke out, hands shaking due to the force of your broiling emotions. “I can’t pretend that everything is alright.”

Her expression crumples at your words, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, Daenerys reaches for you, her fingers brushing your arm, trying to ground you, to keep you from slipping away. “We’ll get through this,” she insists, voice a mixture of desperation and determination. “Whatever we have to face, we will do it together. Just like we always have.”

The heartfelt plea is one that’d normally soften your countenance, opening your heart back up to the warmth of her love, but you don’t think you could bear it now. Not as your thoughts twist and turn the light your shared love has brought to you into unending darkness; reminding you that she was the one that brought Viserion beyond the Wall, the one that left you behind, the one who’s actions have caused a death that could have been avoided.

“The fire that burns within a Targaryen is a double-edged sword,” you muse, a sardonic twist to your lips, as the realization suddenly settles within you; something you had been too blind, too besotted with love, to notice until now. “It can forge a kingdom from the ashes or it can reduce a kingdom to cinders. Those who follow them must always be prepared to walk through the flames and emerge either as conquerors or as nothing more than ash.”

Your words hang heavily in the air — striking Daenerys with a lethal precision, making her flinch as if you’ve physically struck her — but you can’t stop the torrent of emotions that have been unleashed.

“It’s a neat adage, don’t you think? Something I read long ago, in Meereen perhaps, but I have never given it much thought since. Never let it settle long enough to become tangible within my mind,” you continue, the bitterness welling within you impossible to mask. “You’re the Mother of Dragons, Dany! The Unburnt! You’ve always walked  through flames and those who follow you — those who love you — have no choice but to do the same, but not everyone emerges unscathed. Not everyone survives.”

Realization dawns within her violet gaze, Daenerys finally understanding where your words were heading. “Don’t,” she murmurs, voice breaking as she reaches for you once more, but you step back, shaking your head; even if your heart tugs at the sight of her despair.

“Viserion didn’t survive,” you press on, the statement a dagger to your own heart as much as hers. “You took him beyond the Wall and now he’s dead.”

Violet eyes shimmer with unshed emotion — her desperation causing her to try and bridge the distance between you both once more, but you hold up a hand, keeping her at arm's length. “I never wanted this,” she breathes. “I never wanted to lose him. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” you snap. “You did, Daenerys, and now I have to live with the consequences.”

She shakes her head, tears falling freely, but her eyes never waver from yours. “Please,” she begs, raw with emotion — completely open at this moment, allowing you to see every single portion of her pain. “Please don’t leave me. We can’t let this tear us apart; not when we’ve already lost so much. I-I can’t lose you too.”

Her words, the sincere emotion behind them, cut deep, cause you to hesitate; the love you feel for her, that you will always feel, warring with the overwhelming grief that has consumed you, but the pain is too great, the loss too unbearable, and you know staying here will only add salt to an already stinging wound.

“I need time.” It seems like a reasonable request. You know, deep within yourself, beyond the anger and pain, that you need Daenerys, but, at the current moment, you can’t be in her presence and heal to the level you need to. However, you allow her next attempt to touch you, knowing that she needs physical contact, not having the heart to deny her again, and soon her hand makes contact with your arm, gripping in a firm, yet still gentle, manner. “I need to think. I need—” You breathe harshly through your nose. “I need space.”

The grip on your arm tightens slightly, her eyes searching yours, looking for something — for anything — that might give her hope. Something that you can’t give her right now. Not when everything was still so fresh. Not when you didn’t even know if the person you used to be — the woman that Daenerys had fallen in love with — was still underneath all of the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” you say, meaning the words despite everything else. “I can’t stay.”

It’s in that very moment that you see her heart break — the realization that you’re truly leaving, finally registering — and it tears at something inside of you, but you push that feeling deep down. Right now, all you can think about, all you can handle doing, is getting away; finding some peace, some clarity.

“Please,” Daenerys whimpers, a sound you never expected to hear her make, let alone be the reason behind it. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

That, more than anything, causes your breath to catch in your throat, a new kind of pain searing through your chest. You hated this — the parts of you not held down by the darkness were screaming at you to stop this, to hold your Khaleesi and never let go — but there’s nothing else you could do. Not in the state you were in because, if you stayed, if you bent, then you’d keep bending until you were broken completely.

You try to ignore the growing sense of distress emanating from your dragon, moving ever closer to the door of the room, subtly switching to the position she had once held, you shared within Dragonstone — a room you knew you wouldn’t enter for a long while after this — to ensure a quick escape.

Daenerys steps forward. “Ñuha perzys.” Hands outstretched to take your own once more — panic-stricken desperation etched across her face, while violet pools shimmer with more tears — but you twist away from her. Knowing, deep within yourself, that if you let her touch you, if you let her in now, you’d crumble, and that’s not something you’ll allow yourself to do. Not now. Not with this. Not when your son was dead and you’re still breathing, and you still needed to come to terms with that. “Please.”

But, even now, even with all the pain, the grief, the anger, swirling within your body, the familiar urge to look at your Khaleesi, to find solace within her gaze, within her presence, trickles through you like a mountain stream; eroding the miasma of emotions for just enough time that you felt compelled to listen. Maybe because you knew it could be the last time you do so?

The sight that greets you is one that’ll haunt your dreams — just like the emptiness within your heart will forever carry Viserion’s loss — and you wish, for just a moment, that the love you shared with Daenerys wasn’t so strong, so overwhelmingly life-changing, so you could look at her, look at the woman that took away your son, your Prūmia, and feel absolutely nothing at the sight of her devastation, of her anguish.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think, watching as Daenerys tries to center herself, hands curling around the ends of the loose tunic she had thrown on in her haste to catch you. She has always made you feel too much. Awakening things within you that you never believed possible. You just never imagined that she’d be the cause of this much darkness when she’s always been your light.

“I never thought this would happen. Never even believed it to be a possibility.” A bitter smile curls your lips, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, matching the ones falling across Daenerys’. “It’s my own fault, of course. For not foreseeing this to some degree. I was foolish enough to fall in love with a dragon never expecting to be burnt. Now I’m left behind with the scars of what once was and the ashes of what could have been.”

You don’t give her time to respond — knowing that nothing will change the outcome of this, because no matter what she said, no matter what reasons she gave you, or how much she pleaded, how much she begged, Viserion would still be gone when her words turned into mere echoes within Dragonstone — fleeing from the room that had once been your sanctuary in times that have always been rife with uncertainty.

Ignoring the wail of your name as the doors slam shut with a finality that’d echo within your memories for far longer than you think you can bear.

It’s the second time you have done that, you realize. The second time you had left her behind.

It hadn’t gotten any easier nor do you think it ever would, and you hated yourself just a bit more for falling back into her arms, for seeking her out, and causing more pain because of it. There was more than enough of that already.

Viserion was gone, your son was dead, but there was some form of peace in that, in knowing that he was laid to rest. Even if his memory would still haunt you until the day you drew your last breath. While Daenerys was a living ghost, a tangible phantom, who’d bring her own whirlwind of grief and agony.

You don’t know which is worse; living with the memory of your dead son or with the living ghost of the love of your life that caused his death — both haunting you, one in every shattered dream and the other in every hollow embrace.

Daenerys may still be alive, but you’ve lost her just the same, and you don’t know if you’ll ever find her again.

The days following your disagreement with Daenerys passed in unending monotony, self-inflicted numbness casting the world into varying shades of gray.

But could you truly trivialize the harsh words you had hurled at Daenerys as a mere disagreement? It’s something that you have wondered every time your mind inevitably went back to that moment — observing how everything came into fruition; how a brief moment of peace had been torn apart due to the unending despair that has plagued your every waking moment since you heard the news — wherein your normally loving words had twisted into something that seemed like it was coming from someone else.

They were a poison, seeping into the fragile bond you both had fought so hard to build, had spent years strengthening into an enduring relationship built upon a foundation of love and trust stronger than even Valyrian Steel. The memory of her eyes, usually burning with resolve, haunted you — clouded with hurt and grief, not just for Viserion, for the bond that had severed the moment he fell from the sky, but the knowledge that she had possibly lost you too. You had seen the pain you caused etched on her face, and that image refused to leave your mind.

Even thinking of it now, the despair so clearly burning within her normally vibrant violet gaze, causes you to flinch at the reminder that you had been the one to cause such a state; something that you had always vowed to never do. You had seen the way Daenerys clung to people that had earned her loyalty, earned her love, her devotion. She had already lost so much: her parents, her siblings, her husband and unborn son, warriors that had sworn to fight under her banner, and numerous others that promised to be there for her but had proved to be nothing but snakes in the end; just waiting for a time to strike while reaping the benefits of being in the presence of the last dragon.

You had loved Viserion as fiercely as any mother loves her child and his death had shattered you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. The bond you shared with him had been unlike anything else in this world — an extension of your soul, a piece of your very being. Now, with him gone, it felt as if that part of you had been violently torn away, leaving behind a bleeding, festering wound that no amount of time could ever hope to heal; a wound that had birthed the vicious words that you had hurled at Daenerys — they were daggers, sharp and unforgiving — with the sole purpose of hurting her in the way that she had hurt you.

Spite and cruelty had never been part of your repertoire — kindness and compassion had always been at the very crux of your being — but it has suddenly become the only thing you could stand to grasp. As if, in the absence of love, bitterness was the only armor strong enough to protect the shattered remnants of your heart. The warmth that once defined you has been buried beneath layers of resentment, each act of malice a desperate attempt to shield yourself from further pain, even as it pulls you further away from the person you once were; from the woman that you have loved since she had awakened the feeling within you.

Grief is a poignant beast, you’ve come to realize, dragging its heavy claws across the heart, carving deeper and deeper burrows that widen into an endless chasm; devouring the light, leaving behind a void so vast that no bridge of time or love can seem to span it. A chasm that yawns wider with each passing day, echoing with the sounds of what once was, relentless and unyielding in its pursuit of every lingering joy. Until all that remains is the hollow ache of absence and the weight of memories too heavy to bear.

Dragonstone had become almost unbearable to traverse during the day: filled with Dothraki and Unsullied, with advisors and allies, with friends, all knowing what had occurred between you and Daenerys. Their gazes ranging from pity to curiosity to a protective rage — an emotion that gave you an inkling about how Daenerys has been faring in the days since your disagreement — and you couldn’t stand to be analyzed in such a way, couldn’t stand to be the source of courtly intrigue, nor could you stand the constant need for people to try and help; even if it’s from the best possible place. 

You found that the nights didn’t bring you much solace either. In the stillness, the weight of your grief pressed down even harder, a suffocating blanket of despair that wrapped around you, refusing to let go. The walls of Dragonstone, cold and unyielding, seemed to close in, amplifying the emptiness inside you. Sleep eluded you, and when it did come, it still brought the nightmares that have consumed you since you heard the news — visions of Viserion taunting you; his comforting roar turning into a screech of agony, golden eyes that blazed like the sun being extinguished, his fire, his warmth, disappearing forever. Each time, you woke with a start, the sound of his loving croons resounding in your ear, following each beat of your shattered heart.

So, not knowing what else to do, not being able to withstand the prison you had constructed any longer, you sought refuge on the rugged cliffs of Dragonstone; away from the bustling interior of the castle, but not too far to make you feel completely disconnected from the world around you. It’s a haven you find yourself standing upon now, the cold wind whipping around you as you stare out at the churning sea below.

Here, amidst the raw beauty of the cliffs, you let your thoughts wander; the vast expanse of the ocean stretching before you gives the perfect view to let go, to let your eyes watch the soothing way in which the waves continue to move, a stark contrast to the confined spaces of Dragonstone. It feels like a place where you can breathe, if only slightly, away from the prying eyes and well-meaning, but intrusive, concerns of the court.

Your thoughts shift, as they often do, to Daenerys wondering what she could be doing in the wake of everything that has happened. Your mind’s eye brings a vivid picture of her in the chambers that you had stormed out of days prior, a place that you used to find solace, now filled with a heavy silence. How does she cope with Viserion’s death? With the burden of your anger still lingering in the air? Does she, too, seek refuge in the quiet spaces of Dragonstone? Or is she out there, being the indomitable conqueror that’d make her ancestors proud, dealing with the fallout of her decisions; attempting to carry on despite the wounds that she now bears?

The thought of her enduring similar pain tugs at something within you. Despite the anger and pain that still chokes you every time you take a breath, despite the grief that’s still burrowed deep within your heart, a part of you — the part that is still trying to hold all your shattered pieces together; the part that remembers the kindness and love that had encompassed who you are — understands that she is as broken by the loss as you are. It’s a realization, one that had taken days to finally come to terms with, that makes your own pain more poignant; knowing that the woman you’re at odds with is also mourning. Possibly even feeling abandoned and misunderstood — yet another promise that you had broken in the dark abyss of your grief.

You think about the last words you had exchanged, the vitriol behind them on your side and the pleading desperation on her own, and it stings to remember how your pain had twisted your words into something that only deepened the ever growing rift between you both.

If only you’d been able to see through your anger, you think, jaw clenched in an effort to stop the scream that wished to tear itself from your throat; announcing to the world the depths of the opposing emotions within you. If you had then you might have been able to approach her with the understanding that, despite everything that has transpired, she was grieving just as profoundly.

Standing on the cliff, cool air washing over you, the sound of waves crashing against jagged rock resounding within your ear, you try to clear the fog of anger and regret that has hung over you. Reconciliation had always been something you knew would be inevitable — despite the pain, the anger, and overwhelming sorrow — understanding that a life without Daenerys wasn’t a life worth living. You also know that, if you truly wish to reconcile with your soulmate, you need to move beyond the blame and confront your own feelings. Reconciliation wasn’t about who was right or wrong, but about finding common ground in your shared loss.

But how could you?

How could you bridge the gap when your emotions were so tangled? When the anger and grief that you directed at her felt justified in your own suffering but wrong when you considered her side? The hurt had been real, but it wasn’t all that defined her actions; she had lost Viserion too, and her heart was likely just as broken as yours, though perhaps in different ways.

The waves continue their relentless assault on the rocks below, and you find a kind of solace in their persistence; they remind you that even in the midst of turmoil, there is a rhythm to life that continues, a reminder that healing is a process that takes time and effort. It may not be possible to find perfect words or to erase the pain that has accumulated, nor do you think that pain will ever truly go away, not when its origin is the way it is, but you have to try.

Determined, you turn away from the edge and make your way back to the castle. Perhaps the path to healing is not in grand gestures or perfect apologies, but in the simple act of showing up, of being willing to face the difficult truths and seek understanding.

To honor the love that, despite everything, still exists between you.

You brace yourself for the confrontation that looms ahead; the entire thing feeling inevitable. The days of avoidance, of festering wounds and unspoken grief, have stretched on for far too long. Hearing Daenerys out, allowing her the chance to air out her pain, the anger and sorrow that has been gnawing at her heart since Viserion’s death was the least you could do after everything you’ve already done. Even if all the things you hurled towards Daenerys, at the time, felt justified, you know that they’re anything but; now they’re simply an added weight that you must now shed if you are to continue forward.

If you are to heal.

But healing doesn’t come easy and it certainly won’t come without more pain. You’re aware of this, knowing that when you face Daenerys it will not be simple apologies and easy forgiveness; she will be rightfully angry and hurt. You had abandoned her in the aftermath of Viserion’s death, retreating into your own grief, leaving her to carry the burden alone; with the added weight that she might not have only lost her son but you as well. Daenerys was strong, the strongest person you’ve ever met, but you know her, know that beneath her strength lies a heart that feels too deeply, a soul that has been wounded again and again. Your actions had only wounded her further, something you had promised yourself you’d never do so long ago, with your absence, with your vitriolic words and then your silence, and, potentially above all, your inability to stand beside her when she needed you most. 

With each step back towards the castle, the enormity of what you’ve done presses down upon you — it’s not only about Viserion, not anymore, it’s about the distance you’ve allowed to grow between you and Daenerys; the love that’s been overshadowed by loss and anger.

Blaming her had been easier — allowing him to go North, not protecting him as fiercely as you would have — but you now know it had all been a smokescreen for your own feelings of failing as Viserion’s mother; for not being there to save him like he had always saved you.

And now you’ve been absent in saving the only other person who matters most to you — Daenerys.

The ancient castle looms ahead, its dark silhouette stark against the fading light of day, the closer you get causes your chest to tighten. You don’t know how to fix this, don’t know how to find the words that will make her understand how much you regret what’s happened, how much you hate the distance that you’ve created, but you have to try. You don’t know what you’d be if you didn’t.

Viserion may have been your heart — your Prūmia — but Daenerys was your soul.

Moving through the corridors of Dragonstone, each step louder in the silence of your surroundings, as the air around seemed colder in comparison to the warmth of the sun; the fire that had once warmed the halls seems dim now, almost as if it was reflecting that coldness that had descended between you and Daenerys. Not knowing where exactly your dragon was, but allowing your instincts to guide you, you find yourself heading towards the chambers that Daenerys often retreats to when she needs solace.

When you reach the doors to the chambers you had once shared, the flickering torch light casts your shadow on the stone walls; a subtle reminder of the darkness you’ve both been carrying.

It’s a long time before she responds — leaving you to linger in the silence you’d rather forget — but then the door finally opens, Daenerys standing before you, a vision of fragile strength: silver-gold hair falling in loose waves around her face, undone from the typical Dothraki braids, a pallid hue to her skin that brings out the darkened circles beneath her brilliant violet gaze.

A gaze that was harder than you could ever remember, but all that you could imagine yourself deserving after everything that’s happened. Sharper, as if the amethyst hue had been honed by the same grief and guilt that had cut into you, the room behind her, lit by only the hearth, causes a glow to wrap around her — ethereal as your dragon has always been.

“Why are you here?” It’s a pointed question, one that lingers due to the coldness within her tone; protective walls firmly in place. “Is there something you need?”

You open your mouth to speak, the words die as soon as they’re born on your tongue, her questions hanging in the air between you, but the answer you wished to give seemed so much more complicated than you could ever put into words.

Why are you here? To apologize? To seek forgiveness? To mend what’s been broken? Perhaps you wished to do all of it, but none of it feels like enough. 

“I came to—” You search for the right word, but you can only manage a feeble one, voice quieter than you intended. “—talk.”

Daenerys narrows her eyes slightly, the hurt and anger she’s been carrying apparent, but she steps aside; allowing you to enter, but the distance between yourself and your dragon felt more than physical. It feels as though the Narrow Sea stretches before you — filled with all the things left unsaid, all of the pain neither of you had fully acknowledged, simply letting it drown in the murky waters — but if the Dothraki could find the courage to cross it then so would you if it meant your Khaleesi would be waiting for you on the other side.

Taking in the room, a familiar sight but somehow different all the same — just like everything between you and Daenerys; similar but different, right but wrong, close but distant — as the fire crackles in the hearth, doing little to warm the coldness that had settled within the chambers. You watch as Daenerys moves to stand beside the hearth, refusing to sit, seemingly believing this wouldn’t be a conversation long enough wherein she’d have to get comfortable, her posture defensive; her violet eyes filled with a wariness that should never be within her gaze.

“You said you wished to talk,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “So talk.”

You swallow hard, the words still struggling to come out: Where do you even begin? How do you properly explain the storm of emotions that had made their home within your body since you had been told the news of Viserion’s death.

“I’m sorry,” you finally reply, the simplest of all words, but heavy with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. “I’m sorry I left you to deal with everything alone. I’m sorry that I had let my anger control me that night. I’m sorry for blaming you when—” You falter for a moment, remembering the way you had sharply blamed Daenerys, putting the horrific accusation into words, even though you had never said it since. “—when it wasn’t your fault.”

Daenerys’ expression slightly softened, her head tilting as her eyes searched yours as she decided whether or not to believe you.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” It’s a bitter question, one borne from your constant rejection of her love, and it’s something you deserve to shoulder. “You left me. Twice. You blamed me. You abandoned me when I needed you most. And now, after all this time, you show up and say you’re sorry?”

Her words sting like a blade to the heart — making you realize exactly what your own, much harsher, words had done to her; as Daenerys wasn’t aiming to hurt you, not truly, but when you had been lost in your grief, in the darkness it brought, you had been doing so. “I know,” you concede, not even trying to defend your actions. All you wished to do was explain and see where it led you and Daenerys from here. “I hurt you, I made things worse, and I don’t have an excuse except to simply say that I was lost. When Viserion died it felt like a part of me died with him. I didn’t know how to handle it.” You look away from your Khaleesi then, shame lying heavily upon your shoulders. “I didn’t know how to stay.”

Violet eyes blaze into life from her anger — the flicker of emotion she’s been holding back finally breaking through — as she tenses. “And you think I didn’t feel the same? He was my son too, I loved him just as much, maybe in a different way but no less profound, but I didn’t get to fall apart, did I? I didn’t get to disappear. I had to keep fighting, keep leading, keep moving forward, and where were you?” Her voice cracks with emotion and, for a brief moment, the anger in her gaze is replaced by something far more vulnerable; pain, raw and unfiltered. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice breaking under the weight of the truth. You hadn’t known where you were. Not truly. Your body may have been in Dragonstone physically, but you hadn’t truly been here for such a long time. “I don’t know why I couldn’t stay, I should have, but I was so angry.” Fists clenching at your sides, you shake your head, as if to clear the fog from your mind. “Angry at the world, at everything that had happened, and I took it out on you because you were the only person I could blame when I didn’t wish to face the truth. It was easier to blame you than facing the fact that I couldn’t protect him. That I wasn’t there for him in the way that he deserved.”

The silence that follows your admission feels like a chasm, similar to one the darkness had created within you, vast and unbridgeable, as you watch the way Daenerys tenses even further, lips thinning, as she struggles to hold back her emotions further.

“I needed you,” she whispers, finally breaking the silence. “And you weren’t there.”

Those words, devastating in their simplicity, shatter something inside you, causing you to take a step toward your dragon, but she doesn’t move. Daenerys’ arms remain crossed, her posture still defensive, but the violet pools you adore were shimmering with unused tears. And it breaks you even more to see her like this — your strong, unconquerable dragon — like this.

To know that you had been the one to cause it.

There’s nothing you could truly say to make up for what you’ve done — what you’ve put her, and yourself, through — but you’d never stop trying. “I know,” you say, regret filling you. “I failed you, Daenerys. I let my own pain blind me to yours, I let the grief and bitterness consume me, and I left you to bear the weight of it all alone.” Your lips thin into a line, nails slightly digging into your palms. “And I hate myself for that. I hate that I wasn’t strong enough for you, for us, like you have always been towards me.”

The tears that had been gathering in her gaze finally spill over, cascading down her cheeks like falling stars, glimmering underneath the light, and she turns away from you; as if she was trying to hide the vulnerability in her expression, her hands gripping the back of the chair that was situated before the hearth, knuckles white from the effort.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” Daenerys’ typically strong voice trembles under the weight of her emotions, her confession hanging in the air; as if on a delicate thread made entirely of fear and vulnerability. The room seems to shrink around her, the silence amplifying the rawness of her words. Her fierce exterior, always so carefully maintained, now cracks, revealing the depths of her isolation. “I didn’t want to carry the pain alone, but I didn’t have a choice when you left me.”

You take another tentative step toward her, heart aching at the sight of her crumbling before you; the woman you have seen standing tall before armies, who had survived betrayal, loss and death, in a manner you couldn’t truly comprehend, now stood before you broken because of your absence, by the weight of the grief you shared.

“I didn’t know how to be there,” you admit. “I didn’t know how to stay when hurt so much, when I could barely contain the anger within me, but I know now that leaving you was the worst thing I could have done.”

Daenerys turns to face you once more, and this time you don’t find any anger within her violet gaze — only pain that mirrors your own. “Why now?” The fragility of the question showcasing how afraid Daenerys was of your answer. “Why come back now?”

The words that flow from your lips leave as easily as a dragon flies through the air — an innate response that you didn’t need to ponder, to question, or feel as if it wasn’t enough. “Because I can’t do this without you. It took me a lot longer than I’d ever like to admit, to realize that I was using my isolation as a shield and you as the martyr I needed to disappear.” You shake your head, agitated at what you’ve done even if you know that it might have been for the best at first, but you shouldn’t have continued to stay away, continuing to let the darkness fester within you. “As much as I tried to shut out the pain, trying to convince myself that it’s easier to stay away, because then I’d be away from the woman my darkness had blamed, it wasn’t. It was yet another lie my mind had created, a feeling of false security, to ensure I wouldn’t get hurt again, trying to protect what I had left. But it didn’t help, it only made things worse, unbearable, because I need you, Daenerys. I always have and always will.”

Her expression softens at your confession, your heartfelt admission to how you almost lost yourself to your own mind, the rest of the sharpness in her gaze fading away, becoming open. Taking a step forward, you watch, with bated breath, as Daenerys’ arms uncross and she tentatively reaches for you, testing if it was safe to touch again — clearly remembering the times you had rejected her affection. When the warmth of her hand finally rests upon your chest, over your heart, the contact is like a lifeline you’ve needed for so long, pulling you from the murky waters that have been trying to pull you under, grounding you in the reality of her presence.

“I missed you,” she confesses in return, voice thick with emotion. “Every day, I missed you. Even when I was angry, even when I was hurt by your actions, even when I thought I hated you.”

The words hit you like a wave, almost causing you to detach from the buoy her touch had given you, but you refuse to let yourself sink again, to be consumed by the darkness when finally in the face of your sun. You reach up to take her hand in yours, holding it tightly to ensure she didn’t slip away, as you reply. “I missed you too. Even when I was at my worst, even when my thoughts didn’t feel like my own, some part of me, the truest part of me, missed you too. I’m just glad I didn’t ruin everything.”

Daenerys shakes her head, tears still steadily slipping down her cheeks, but she no longer looks devastated. “We’ve both made mistakes,” she admits. “We’ve both been hurt, but the one thing that could never change is the love I feel for you, not even when it felt like everything was falling apart, my love has always remained true.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer, blurring your vision for a moment, as you pull her into your arms, holding her as tightly as you can; trying to make up for all the time you had lost while apart. Daenerys, in return, clings to you just as tightly, body trembling against yours as the weight that seemed to have pressed upon day-by-day began to finally lift.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper against the soft skin of her neck, your face pressed as close as you can manage; delighting in the familiar scent of your Khaleesi. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” Daenerys soothes, arms tightening as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry too.”

For a long time, you just hold each other, the silence that had descended between you — not the familiar entity that had kept you company for so long — filled with an unspoken understanding that you both had been through hell, but you’ve managed to come out on the other side.

The scars are still there, the wounds still fresh, but the love that has been between you is there, shining through the pain. A North Star in the darkness that promised salvation, leading you home within your Khaleesi’s embrace.

Eventually Daenerys pulls back, only slightly as she didn’t wish to put too much distance between you, but just enough to be able to look at you fully. Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying, are filled with a warmth that you haven’t seen in such a long time; amethyst pools shining like the precious gems as Daenerys seemed to glow from within.

“We’ll get through this,” Daenerys vows, determined to not falter again. “We have to get through this, ñuha perzys. We belong together.”

All you can do is nod in response, throat too tight with emotion to allow any form of speech, instead you lean forward to press a kiss to your Dany’s cheek, nuzzling against the warmth you find there, heart swelling with a mixture of relief and love.

Knowing, with everything within you, that as long as you had her by your side, your Khaleesi’s warmth keeping the cold at bay, you’d be able to face whatever comes next.

Together.

[incorrectoceanseightquotes]

Daphne; "I know I’ve been talking about Rose all morning, but another thing I love about Rose is that she just gets me."

Nine Ball; "Can she come get you right now?"

[vee-art-zone]

God i wish Igloos got the same structure love that 1.20 gave to ocean ruins, wells and desert temples. I hope I've made it clear that the snowy biomes are imo the least interesting biome in MC to explore and potentially my least favorite overall. When I'm flying around with my elytra exploring for new loot (as i often am) I find myself instinctively turning around when I hit a snowy biome because even my subconscious knows there's no unique loot to be found there.

Let's compare the Snowy Plains with a biome that is, in many ways, its counterpart - The Desert. One hot and one cold, but both barren, flat, devoid of most passive mobs to set up farms, and chock full of rabbits. The differences though, lie in the loot and structures tied to these 2 biomes.

The Desert:

Best source of Sand, one of the last major non-renewable resources that have endgame players returning to them to gather it up by the boxful

Cacti (also found in badlands, the desert's cousin) are the only source of Green dye.

Are the only biome whos representative village has a unique mob - the Camel. A reliable mount, players are encouraged to seek out 2 desert villages to breed up a population of camels.

Desert temples have, hands down, the best loot for their place in the game. 4 chests that regularly have diamonds, enchanted books, gunpowder, gold, and an exclusive Armor Trim? Also have an archaeology pit with 4 exclusive sherds

Even desert wells have 2 sherds to their name, making 6 of these collectable trinkets exclusive to deserts.

Ranking: A biome I make sure to scour every inch of when I find one to loot every structure there for the minerals, trims and sherds. and return to again and again to grab extra sand and eventually bring Camels home.

Now let's look at the Tundra:

You need 8 snowballs (which can be found far more plentifully in biomes far more interesting) to make a snow golem, giving you access to infinite snow and no reason to return here

Polar Bears are semi-exclusive to this biome, although can also be found in Frozen Oceans (which have more loot courtesy of the shipwrecks and ocean ruins). However, Polar Bears are imo one of the least interesting animals in MC, due to being unbreedable and not really. Doing anything. (As much as I preach not every mob needs a 'Use'™, they should still have interesting behaviors and Do Things. There's not a whole lot the player can do with polar bears to inspire the imagination. I'd love to see them get reworked and polished someday!)

Ice Spikes are interesting biomes with basically nothing in them other than the pretty scenery (which I'll admit is very pretty, it gets points for that). It used to be the only source of the highly-useful Packed Ice block, until 1.13 made it 100x more plentiful in the much more common Frozen Ocean biome, and made it craftable from regular ice.

Snowy Villages are like finding any other village, but notedly without Hay Bales, arguably making them Worse to the seasoned minecraft player than finding any other village, even if they look nice)

The only Real unique structure to snowy biomes is Igloos, which have an interesting mechanic with the secret basement (that only half of all igloos actually Have) showing the player how to cure zombie villagers. While interesting and good for new players, there's no reason for experienced players to bother exploring igloos when the best thing to find in them is a single Golden Apple. Igloos should've gotten a unique armor trim!

Ranking: A biome whos lack of interesting treasure or animals makes them not worth the firework rockets it takes to fly through them.

The Snowy Plains is an important biome. Or at least, should be. It's the Snow Biome! It should have unique things like the Desert has unique things.

Maybe add a unique animal to tundra villages, like a Yak or a Muskox or something, to encourage noobs and pros alike to farm in the winter wonderland. Add a unique armor trim to igloo basement chests for new players who spawn in the snow biome to find, as well as maybe some Suspicious Snow blocks around it. Maybe some new pottery sherds or, since whoever lived here liked to experiment so much with DNA, maybe they've been trying to bring back a long-extinct species like the Sniffer. Hell, add a Snow Temple the same way deserts & jungles have temples, with loot chests and traps and whatnot! Something to make flying through the snowfields as much of a rip-roaring treasure hunting expedition as flying through the sand dunes is.

[reasonsforhope]

Study: Protecting the ocean helps fight malnutrition

"Protecting more of the ocean could slash the risk of malnutrition for up to 3 million people worldwide, according to a new study co-authored by Conservation International.

It found that fish catches in coral reefs could increase by up to 20 percent by expanding sustainable-use marine protected areas — that is, areas where some fishing is allowed with restrictions.

The benefits of marine protected areas in helping restore fish populations and ecosystems are well documented. However, perceptions persist that these protections come at the expense of local communities.

The new study challenges this view.

“It’s easy to think of protected areas as putting people and nature in conflict by restricting access to much-needed sources of nutrition for locals,” said Conservation International scientist Alex Zvoleff, a study co-author. “But what this study shows is that protecting nature isn't about walling off resources from people; protected areas can actually enhance what nature provides for people."

The study analyzed fish counts in nearly 2,500 coral reefs across 53 countries, focusing on the nutrients found in fish that are critical for human health. Researchers looked at sites with a range of protections — from complete bans on fishing to open access for fishing — and found that sustainable-use marine protected areas have on average 15 percent more fish biomass than non-protected areas.

The study pinpointed countries with the greatest potential to improve malnutrition through sustainable-use marine protected areas, including Bangladesh, India, Indonesia, Kenya, Madagascar, Mozambique and Nicaragua.

More than 800 million people face malnutrition worldwide, according to the World Health Organization. In many coastal communities, fish can be the only source of vital nutrients — particularly for children and pregnant women.

However, pollution, overfishing and climate change are severely degrading the coral reefs that support these fish. And though coastal communities make up a small portion of those struggling with malnutrition, the study shows that fighting food insecurity can go hand in hand with protecting nature, said Daniel Viana, the study’s lead author.

“There is often a push for marine protected areas to completely ban fishing — our goal is to show that it does not need to be all or nothing,” Viana said. “Allowing regulated fishing in marine protected areas can support healthy fish populations, while also having a positive impact on the quality of life of surrounding communities.”

The study’s findings are particularly significant as global efforts are under way to protect at least 30 percent of the planet’s land and marine ecosystems by 2030. Currently, only about 8 percent of the ocean is protected."

-via Conservation International, September 17, 2024

[sunandsstars]

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 8

Tonowari x Ronal x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: With her arrival in Awa’atlu, reader seeks to find a sanctuary for her family, one that she may find in two particular individuals

Warnings: Implies drowning, mentions death

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: Guess who’s back!! 😝😝also pls pls pls double check if your name is on my taglist! if it’s on there 2x drop me a message and i’ll remove one of them, just clears some space and organises me! And thank you so much for being so patient!

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr @mooniequeen @berrybluez @bajadotcom @alwaysinwritersblock @pandoragalora @perfectprofessorloverapricot @lvrcpid @answer-the-sirens @phantomalex14 @neteyamforlife @bat1212 @sadforeversblog @ducks118 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @1800imgay @soushswag @honeybxes @lola-bunn1 @alldaysdreamers @doggodorime @theesexystallion @scarlettwch @annamarieisbae @wallpaintt @zatarias-pandora @daoyus @ambria @simp-erformarvelwomen @simpliheavenli @tojidilfs @automaticwizardnerd @lexasaurs634 @symptoms-of-moonlight @avtprint

@deviismynamewritingismygame @sunrays404 @tsireyassgurl @xx-kaitlyn-trixx-xx @that-one-daydreamer @yeosxxx @noname2246 @ok-boke @rubyrubyruuu @diosmilkymommers @annaleesworld @jiminsthickthighs @holysaladapricothero @peaches-peach-peach @enochi @thispussyshouldcomew @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @kirisimpster @pompompomegranate @stevebuckysdoll @midhito @any-maybe @nyylovestowrite @omnimaki @blueberryfailureclinic @degenweeb @tejas-kris @sadlyitsme-boo-hoo @agustdeeyaa @kthehoeforfictionalmen @himbo-klown @miraxflor @behindthearcane @yanelis-world @jaxe-27 @noahboahsblog

The next few months became repetitive, lessons on how to be a Metkayina, lessons on how to be a Tsahìk, spending time with Tonowari and Ronal. It was a comfortable routine ___ got herself into, she was happy here in Awa’atlu. Her babies were safe and healthy, she was safe and healthy.

But sometimes she would be reminded of her home back in the forests, her people, her old mates, Spider.

She missed him.

___ continues to weave a new top, made of dried seaweed and shells, she enjoyed these new garments and loved wearing and designing them in her free time. They were much more freer to wear than the leather she was more used to growing up. Her mind drifted to Spider once more, wondering if the toddler was ok and if he was safe with Norm and the other tuwtute. She knew they would take good care of him, but she could not help but think he would be in better care with her. His mother.

Shaking her head she huffed, placing the half finished top onto the floor and turned her head to look out the marui, watching the waves dance in the afternoon sun, eclipse would be upon them soon and she planned to take Sylwaì and Syatxì to see the bioluminescence of the ocean. They were able to swim, being fast learners, and often had swimming lessons with Ao’nung and other Metkayina babies. Their teacher said they fit right in, it made her happy they were accepted as apart of the people despite their obvious differences.

“mmm” a mumble interrupted her train of thoughts, she looked at the source and saw Syatxì crawling his way towards her. “mmma”

“Kaltxì ‘itan” she picked him up and nuzzled her nose to his, smooching his forehead. The twins have grown quite well, now able to move about and starting to sound out words, Ronal said it would be soon they will begin to walk and talk. “Hmmm, your hair needs to be braided again” ___ talked to herself, looking at the slight exposure of her sons queue and turned him around, getting to work.

Her nimble fingers skilfully crossed over sections of hair at the crown of his head, creating a pattern that her mother taught her in a time long passed. Tying off the end of the braid the mother looked to the setting sun, purples and oranges erupting in the sky, it was almost time to take them outside.

___ stood from her seated position, picking up her son and balancing him on her hip, head swivelling to her rolled out sleeping mat and seeing Sylwaì sat up and waving around a carved out toy of an ikran. His mother smiled and walked towards him, “come on baby” she squatted and scooped him up, settling him on her other hip.

Even when the Pandoran skies darken and eclipse has taken place, the village of Awa’atlu is still active with its people. She smiled and greeted some weavers who walked by her on the elevated platform, she assumed they are going towards the forest to look for more materials. “Have you seen Ronal?” she asked them before they left her sights, the Tsahìk agreed to join her on her expedition with her own son, seeing that this bonding activity will prove beneficial for all.

“She is on the beach the last we saw” one of the men shrugged and pointed in the direction of the east end of the shoreline, waving as ___ thanked him and strolled towards the direction she was pointed to.

But as she arrived on the beach, there was no Tsahìk, or anyone for that matter. The beach was deserted save for a few Na’vi children running around by the mangrove roots. ___ chirped in confusion, yellow eyes darting left and right as she walked closer to the waters edge. “Ronal?” she called out, her sons humming and bouncing with contained excitement.

“I am here” a head poked out of the deeper ends of the water, a grin slowly forming its way onto the Metkayinan’s face. She brought up Ao’nung who squealed when he was swung in the air, laughing at the exhilaration he feels. “We arrived early and my son was impatient, I apologise flower”

Flower.

It was a nickname that Tonowari originally came up with, comparing her to one of the fauna he spotted while deep diving outside the reef. When he brought it back and showed it to his mate and friend, the Tsahìk instantly adapted to call ___ it, why would she not? When the petals were the most prettiest shade of dark blue and the middle was a gorgeous colour of amber, like her eyes. Oh Eywa.

The former Omaticayan flushed slightly but shook it out of her mind. ‘She is just being nice’ she told herself. If only she knew.

___ slowly waded herself through the water, feeling soft wet sand underneath her toes. Her ears wriggled at the sound of childish giggles from her two sons, their tails being touched by the slightly warmed sea. Soon their bodies were enveloped, saved for their heads which ___ kept above water. Even though they may have been good in their lessons, she knew their body is still not well suited for the reefs, more for the forests. So she took great care to watch over them better than the Metkayina children.

“Sa’nu!” Ao’nung cried out, seeing the bluer Na’vi getting closer to them. ___’s heart froze up slightly, eyes going straight to her Tsahìk with pointed down ears. She did not expect for the boy to call her mummy, as she is not the one who mothered him.

Ronal’s tail swished harshly under the water, a bashful look overcoming her face. She knew she was partly at fault, she always brought the boy around the women and her children, never made it clear who ___ was to her. Ao’nung saw a women who was close with his mother and decided that she too would be worthy of the title.

She did not bother correcting him.

“I am sorry-“

“You do not have to be. I saw this coming. Ao’nung does take a large liking to you ___. But I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable” Ronal turned towards the walls of her village in the sea, watching the small fires lit on the outskirts where the canoes continue to row.

“Kehe. It does not make me uncomfortable. I just did not expect it” ___ did not see the grin that formed on the others face.

“Za’u. We will go deeper with ilus” Ronal made a call and a small swarm of creatures swam over to them, clicking and singing in happiness. Ao’nung reached out to tap one on the head with his four fingers, squealing when the tiny ilu nudged his round tummy.

___ let Sylwaì and Syatxì make tsaheylu with the smaller ones, knowing that it is normal to do so gives her comfort. Ilus are like pa’li, but more sociable and safer to bond with.

The boys little fingers grip the tiny reins that connect the animals queues together and slowly swam off to find Ao’nung while their mother established the bond herself on a much larger ilu, following closely behind.

The family dove under the surface, watching as the reef became alive with bright colours. Even though ___ has seen it all before, Pandora never fails to take her breath away. She turned her head to the left to sign to her companion. “Where should we go?”

“I think it is time I show you our spirit tree”

If the Omaticayan was out of the water she would gasp with delight. She has heard from the elders that their spirit tree lies within the cove of ancestors not far from their village, they told her that unlike the giant tree she was used to back in the forest, it is more like a large bundle of sea weed. She was most excited to see it and wanted to venture out herself, but she knew that she needed permission from the Tsahìk or be accompanied by another villager. This may be her home now, but the spiritual tree is something that is most sacred.

Ronal saw the growing excitement on her face and grinned a rare smile.

This will be a night neither one would forget.

The cove of ancestors was better at eclipse, she has been told. But seeing it in person surpassed all expectations. Sylwaì was now huddled in her arms, while her other son and Ao’nung stayed with Ronal, the two small ilus having a chance to take a well deserved break.

“Look down there, flower”

The glow of the spirit tree shone a bright purple and pink hue, its leaves swayed prettily in the deep ends of the waters, curling and twisting to create a giant mass of virtue.

“It is beautiful. Unlike anything I have ever seen”

“Srane…” blue eyes clashed with yellow and the world came to a standstill, if the children were not here, she would surely confess her feelings.

Ao’nung noticed the tree and immediately wriggled in his mothers hold, wanting to go down and see for himself, splashing in the water and swimming to the very top leaf.

Ronal sighed and rolled her eyes slightly at the interruption but smiled a little, diving after him while still holding Syatxì, not waiting for her friend to follow.

After taking a large breath, the two at the surface dove down and followed after the others. Going towards the more shallower tip of the tree to ensure the children would not eventually lose their breath.

“Make the bond” Ronal signed, connecting her hands together and then taking Syatxì’s queue, touching the pink tips of the braid to the tree. “And do not worry, Eywa will give them air”

___ nodded in trust and did the same to Sylwaì and then herself. Feeling a familiar calmness wash over her, watching the colours around fade into a tunnel.

The eye of Eywa.

The lush green grass and tall trees of the forest was not what she expected when she opened her eyes again. But to be honest she did not expect anything.

Laughter filled her pointed ears and she turned around, following the sounds as her feet guided her towards a pretty river with a large waterfall just a few meters up ahead. She recognised the area, it was one from her childhood, an area nearby home tree that her mother and father always took her to.

“My my, you certainly have been busy”

“Sempul!”

___ cried out and crashed into the man who sired her for as long as she lived. She was devastated when her parents went off to fight in the war, both being strong and respected warriors in the clan, but she mourned so much when she found out that they did not live. ___ did not get a chance to see them for a long time since her pregnancy and her arrival in Awa’atlu, not until now.

“Mawey ‘ite. Mawey” Her father pulled back and brushed his daughters loose hair from her face, noting the lack of braids. “Healthy grandchildren. Eywa had blessed us with a wonderful family, one that we hope will grow even larger?”

The young women blinked once. Then twice. Confusion fulling her face. “Sempul…What do you mean. I have not met anyone recently. Not since…”

“Those kalweyaveng. They did not deserve you daughter” ___’s mother approached from the water, holding her grandsons on her hips who played with her beaded hair. “We are glad you have found refuge with the reef Na’vi. They have been kind to you, yes?”

“Srane”

“Of course they have Hìfey, you have seen the way the clan leaders treat her. I would not be surprised if they get together soon. That will happen yes?”

“Father!”

“Kehe. He is right ‘ite. They treat you like a mate, her son calls you mother. Do not give me that look. We see and hear through Eywa” Hìfey rolled her large eyes and smiled softly, watching as silent tears welded in her beautiful child’s eyes. “My heart, there is no need to cry. Tell them how you feel”

___ sniffled and turned back to hug her father once more for comfort. “What if they reject me. Treat me like Jake and Neytiri. What if they cast me out. I cannot let my sons live as an outcast forever sa’nok”

Hìfey shared a look with her husband, one of understanding, a look that needed no words. “Daughter, I refuse to believe that would happen. Have faith my child. Everything will be alright, trust us. Trust Eywa”

And with that, her eyes closed in complete bliss. Heart slowing down as a bright light washed over her vision, she will tell them how she feels.

It is time for a new beginning.

previous | next

[harmoonix]

𓆉Summer Astrology Observations

🏄‍♀️ ~ I wanna be the ocean to your shore ~ 🏄‍♀️

𓆉 Cancer/Sagittarius and Libra Moons might enjoy the warm weather more than the cold one and aswell for the warm seasons than cold seasons

𓆉 Sagittarius/Leo and Aries/Pisces placements are screaming "exotic vibes" very much, many natives with those placements give a flair of exoticness and wildness in the same time, the risings can look very exotic aswell

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I wanna be the ocean to your shore

Bring you comfort evermore

I wanna be the only thing you need

Be the oxygen you breathe

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𓆉 Asteroid Nymphe [875] in water signs, these natives feel connected to water sources like lake,sea,ocean and can feel those places as eliberating and safe, for example you go at the beach/sea and you feel good when you go in the water/sea 💁🏻‍♀️ applying if you have this asteroid at water degrees [4°,8°,12°, 16°,20°, 24°, 28°]

𓆉 Sagittarius Venus/Venus in the 9th house can met their spouse/specific person in a foreign country or while traveling in a country is giving "I met your father while having a party in Spain"😍

𓆉 Your 7th house sign can show the season or period when you can met potential love partners:

Aries - In April/ Mid Spring

Taurus - In May/ Late spring

Gemini - In June/Early Summer

Cancer - In July/ Mid Summer

Leo - In August/Late Summer

Virgo - In September/Late Fall [Autumn]

Libra - In October/Mid Fall

Scorpio - In November/Late Fall

Sagittarius - In December/Early Winter

Capricorn - In January/Mid Winter

Aquarius - In February/ Late Winter

Pisces - In March/Early Spring

𓆉 Sagittarius, Capricorn and Aquarius Risings have luck finding potential love partners in summer because their 7th house sign rule the summer seasons 🥰

𓆉 Juno in Aquarius, Leo, Cancer, Capricorn can get a different spouse in a relationship, for example ying - yang or ice and fire, their spouses can be exactly the opposite of what they are and the relationship can be very unique

𓆉 Juno - Jupiter aspects will have the most optimistic and funniest relationships ever, the type of people who wanna have fun with the other one 24/7, your spouse can be the type of person like "Baby let's go to this festival will be very cool and we will have a lot of fun, wanna come?"💁🏻‍♀️😍

𓆉 Juno - Pluto aspects will have the most transformative relationships ever, their spouse can be very spouse of them and very jealous aswell, the couple will learn from eachother and from each mistake they do 🥰

𓆉 Aquarius and Libra together with Gemini and Virgo placements can be good at writing songs/composing/lyrics, it's their talent, it's in their DNA to create and compose 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

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Cause I'm no ordinary girl

I'm from the deep blue underworld

Land or sea, the world's my oyster

I'm the pearl, no ordinary girl

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𓆉 Scorpio and Aries Juno can geta very passionate and sensual partner, someone who can have a lot of kinks and someone who knows how sensuality works

𓆉 MC (Midheaven) - Juno aspects, your spouse can help you in your career and can be very influential in your life, they can be very popular and it can bring them succes and with that they can help you and be an important part of your destiny 💖

𓆉 Water Placements always wanted to live somewhere close to the ocean or sea, somewhere where they could see a perfect sunset at the beach before going home ☀️

𓆉 Ascendant in Water Degrees [4°,8°,12°, 16°,20°, 24°, 28°] makes the native to have dreamy eyes, you can lose yourself when you watch close to their eyes, they are stunningly beautiful

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So come on this is my adventure

This is my fantasy

It's all about living in the ocean

Bein' wild and free

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𓆉 Descendant in Water Degrees [4°,8°,12°, 16°,20°, 24°, 28°] your spouse can have traits related to your degrees for example having Cancer Degrees there your spouse can embody Cancerian traits and so on for the other degrees

𓆉 Cancer/Pisces/Scorpio/Libra and Taurus in the 7th house gives a very emotionally bounding spouse to the native, for real now your specific person can be attach to you very fast and you can create a emotional bound with them (Applied if you have Venus or Jupiter in those signs💁🏻‍♀️😍)

𓆉 Juno in Water Degrees [4°,8°, 12°, 16°,20°, 24°, 28°] might get a very affectionate spouse in relationships, their spouse can be very caring and generous with you, is so romantic 🥹💖

𓆉 Neptune - Moon/Mercury aspects are giving mermaid vibes, their eyes are enchanting, their voices are luxurious and full of love, these placements are magical

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What you give you will receive

So baby bring it all to me

And I will warm you like the sun

I always knew you were the one

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𓆉 Pluto - Moon/Mercury aspects on the other side give siren vibes, they are like a dark and misterious soul, this is literally giving "Your eyes hide a lot of secrete vibe" 😍

𓆉 Neptune and Jupiter aspects always had a fairytale vibe in them, it is because is one of the mystic aspects in astrology, your spirituality is insane, you are evolving and transforming, your aura is so strong and you are protected 💖💁🏻‍♀️

𓆉 Venus and Uranus aspects might change their style a lot, they are very indecisive when it comes to they style. Because they have so many cool ideas and their head is full of these

𓆉 Ascendant - Mercury aspects tend to look younger than that they are, they have this young look on their faces and is so ✨pure✨ i think Asc - Mercury are underatted when it comes to beauty because these people look so majestic

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Today 1st June is finally the official date that summer has started and is feeling so good to feel again the warm sun and the chill air in the mornings🌄 is honestly such a vibe, the ocean/sea is my home for all the summer and i missed seeing it🥹🥹 Summer for the next 3 months 😍🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

I really hope you guys enjoy the summer because is a such a lovely season, is warm is free is nostalgic in a way 💁🏻‍♀️, there are parties festivals going around a lot of fun 😊 listen music at the speakers at maximum volume all summer all day everyday while hanging with your friends and making memories together 😍🤌🏼

Have a great summer to everyone!😍

Harmoonix 💋