#then the fire prince destroys everything he owns

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing  against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

[misguidedasgardian]

Storm's End (End 2)

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, fear of commiting s*icide, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, rape, non-con, minors engaging in sexual activities, blood, violence, war and death, Kinslaying, death in childbirth, dark things related to childbearing, and other very dark things. mIght miss some warnings

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4,2 k

Notes: Alright people, this is it! the END, no more, please I beg of you, this was supposed to be a two shot! No more…

It's been two weeks since he cuddled you to sleep that night 

Since you confessed to him that you didn’t hate him, that the only thing you wanted was to get back in time and spare you all that hate as well

He acted more kindly to you, gentler, he still had you everytime he could, but at least he made sure to prepare you, to even make sure you don’t hurt while he was bedding you 

But it was too late

It was too late, he had hurt you in an irreparable way

You barely spoke, you barely looked at him, no matter how he tried to coax words out of you

it was true, you did not hate him, but you were destroyed, physically, mentally

You didn’t understood it, what was happening to you

You always thought of yourself as this calm, reserved person, you made sure never to harm or annoy someone, to make sure to present yourself as best as you could, as nicer as you could… people around you cared for you, respected you, you could tell, your family adored you… you were a good person

You didn’t understand why you were being punished with so much hurt and hate

Your own body… felt so foreign to you…

Before, you felt like you were in control, like you were one in all aspects of yourself, now… you barely wanted to move… you felt every breath you took, and even moving posed a challenge, like you had to command every movement of your body… like it didn't belonged to you anymore, you yourself were just floating inside this unknown vessel, who belonged to…

Him

And you didn’t even wanted to move in the first place

You often laid on the bed, not being able to move, sitting so still, you believed that if you did so, stood so still, Aemond wouldn’t see you, wouldn’t hurt you anymore, would forget you exist.

You felt like by only moving, you were going to make him hurt you

You offended him by only existing, by breathing, so when he entered the room, you barely did so…

He would see it, the state you were in, he chose to ignore it, and only spend time in the chambers like they were his own, he would read by the fire, he would sip wine and eat with you as well…

He couldn’t tell, but you would throw up everything you ate

Maybe that is why it was so hard for you to move…

Because you had no energy

One afternoon he came in the room, unannounced, like always, he stopped by the bed, looking down at you

“Are you with child?”, he asked severely, you looked up at im

You also knew he did not liked it when you didn’t answer

“I don’t know”, you answered truthfully

How would you know? you did felt “different”, but it was such a difficult and different circumstances, you couldn’t be sure if the “changes” you were feeling was because your uncle’s seed had taken root in your womb… or because of the estres

He sighed, loudly

“I’ll fetch a maester”

This wasn’t the first time the old man examined you in such an intimate way it made your eye spilled silent tears, but again, you felt so out of your body, you were starting to become indifferent to whatever was happening to you

“He is not with child my prince”, the old man breathed finally, and you didn't know how to feel

If you were with child perhaps Aemond would be satisfied, and would leave you alone, his purpose of humiliate you in the ultimate way would be fulfilled

On the other hand, having a child terrified you to your core

Having a baby… growing it in your belly….

Birthing it… you were there with your mom the day she lost your baby sister, and you were so horrified… maybe you’d die in labor, and the thought, of your child, being raised by the greens, frighten even more

If they even decided to raise them, knowing them, they would throw your babe into the depths of Flea Bottom with the rest of Aegon’s bastards…

That “silly” imaginary scenario made you cry, real tears, all the possibilities were terrifying, now even more so because Aemond was going to keep bedding you until he got what he wanted

You didn’t even know what he wanted anymore

“What is wrong with her?”, he asked coldly, the old made made a weird face, and Aemond grabbed him and took him out of the room, so they could speak without you hearing them

Speaking of your body, out of your earshot

Yet another proof, that your body didn’t belonged to you anymore 

“She is dehydrated, stressed, and she hasn't been eating my prince…”, you heard the old man say, “women are delicate, they need optimal conditions so they can breed…”, you felt like… something else 

“Get out, don’t tell anyone”

Aemond didn’t know the maester’s loyalties lay somewhere else.

He returned to you, and he communicated to you he was going to be send away to Harrenhal, to sort some political matters, and you should do well in using this time to rest, eat, and drink whatever you liked

Of course there was a hidden threat, so he bed you one last… long time, and when the sun broke the next morning, he was gone

Alicent had become frightened by her own son

She thought she knew his heart, but oh how wrong she was

She saw a side of him that scared her more than the drunk side of Aegon

A possessive side, dark side… 

A side that was capable of killing, raping

That poor girl

Rhaenyra’s daughter, she involuntarily whimpered every time she thought about the only daughter of her childhood companion

Alicent was scared of her own son

And this was going to get out of hand if she didn't do something 

The summit was barely a few weeks from now, and she had no idea how to remove his son’s claws from you

And she knew that if it came between getting back his father or keeping you, his father was going to be lost forever, especially since the maester had come to her the day before and told her that you were with child, and as instructed, he had lied to the Prince.

He couldn’t find out…

So gathering the last of her bravery and strength, and with the help of Larys, she… had you taken, in the middle of the night when she knew Aemond was away in Harrenhal, securing the castle before the summit 

She exchanged correspondence with Rhaenyra before hand of course

And exchanged you both, before the summit

It was a dark night without moon when you were dragged out of bed and walked amongst the secret passageways of the Red Keep to the docks of King’s Landing 

You should have been relieved, but you weren’t, you were frightened, because clearly Aemond hadn't agreed to this, you knew his anger and his rage, and you were scared of what he might be capable of, especially after he had told you that might just someday appear in Dragonstone and burn the castle  to the ground and everyone on it…

But like you yourself said, it was better one week back in your family’s arms, than years with him.

“Aemond…”, you started, “It’s going to be angry”, you whined

“Let me handle my son”, snapped Alicent, as she herself grabbed you and dragged you through the moldy passageways of inside the Keep 

“I must try again and beg you to convince your mother to see reason, that is why I’m releasing you”, Alicent said as you were about to jump on the small boat that was going to get you to the ship

“Please see that Aemond…”, she nodded shortly, but you and her knew very well than there was nothing she could do

The control over dragons was an illusion, they were savage beats, unpredictable and destructive.

As you were sailing back to your home, passing by another vessel, you couldn’t find it in your broken heart to be relieved, you felt like this was making things worse

Much more worse

You were the last chain containing the wrath of the biggest and most powerful dragon in the world

And it just snapped 

And it couldn’t be that easy, just slipping away, going back home…

But as you saw the black castle in the distance, that is when you felt it, the relief, the happiness 

You were home

For a week, a moon or years, it did not matter, you were home

Before you knew it, you were walking slowly up the huge stone bridge connecting the castle with the rest of the island, and then… there they were

Your entire family was waiting for you a bit unfitting for a Queen, a King consort, and princes and princesses, but they clearly did not care as you mother ran towards you, embracing you tightly as soon as she had you within her grasp

“MAMA”, you sobbed into her neck

Her touch, her smell… it brought you back to life, it brought your soul back into your body

“My baby girl, my sweet, my love, my heart, you are home”, you could tell she was also crying as she held you in her arms

You could no longer stand, your legs failed you, but she had you, she was a strong woman, so so strong.

You couldn’t remember much after that

You just collapsed 

You woke up feeling… uncomfortable, a sharp pain between your legs

You whined and tried to get rid of said intrusion, that is when you came back to your senses, the maester, the dragonstone maester, released you with with a concerned face

“She is with child your grace”, you felt your mother’s crying, and dark promises from your Stepfather to… “kill the one-eyed bastard”

You pushed the maester away, and he only nodded

Your mother’s attention was back to you, smiling

“My love”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want anyone touching me”, you whispered, she nodded

“You don’t have to be sorry”, she said simply, she sat by your side, a single tear fell from her eye

“I’m fine”, you assured her, “just a little broken, but aside from it all, I’m home”, she barely smiled and nodded 

“Your brothers want to see you”, she said softly, Daemon stood there, looking down at you in pity, didn’t say anything, didn’t approached you, but you preferred it that way

“I’d like to see them too”, you said, standing from the bed, you had noticed they dressed you in a simple dress 

Your brothers entered the room, but you were nervous, they could see it, and didn’t push you with the physical contact.

Nervous or not, scared to death or not, nightmares or not, you were home, for the next two weeks, you were safe and sound in your home with your family, your whole family, they had all expressed their love for you unborn child. 

If you only knew then, you were going to look back to those days as the happiest of your life…

The summit went terribly wrong… awfully, terribly wrong

Aemond was enraged, for the simple reason you were taken from him, his own family had mocked him, deceived him, betrayed him, you were his, not theirs to trade like they saw fit, he had claimed you, he belonged to you

As expected, not even Aegon could control Aemond, who demanded you to be brought back to him, now he seeked a marriage, and again, demanded that the pact of the division of the Kingdoms was sealed under a marriage pact, but not only Rhaenyra refused, but Aegon and Alicent did also…

It was a breaking point

The first one to suffer his wrath… was your baby brother

Plucked front he skies as he was returning front the Eyrie a few weeks after the summit

Your mother, nor you, not anyone really, was the same

The pact of no aggression went to shit after that

And the seven Kingdoms submerged in a gruesome war

Your brother Jacaerys was next, he perished in the narrow sea, he and his dragon, fighting against the triarchy, your baby brothers were lost too, Aegon and Viserys, you were numb by then, but the wails of your mother would hunt you forever

By that time, you were almost about to give birth

You had terrible nightmares everyday and you were certain you were going to perish in childbirth, only to punish your mother further

It was a terribly stormy night you gave birth

Terrible shapes were drawn in the walls because of the winds that sneaked through the windows threatening to make the flames of the torches perish. You felt like you were hunted by demons of the seven hells, waiting in the corner of your eyes and the room, ready to collect you

But the wail of your baby scared them away

Against all odds, you recuperated, your baby brought a glimpse of hope into the castle

Your mother was never going to smile again, but you felt her relief, and she seemed to draw a small smile only for your newborn son when she held him in her arms

Aemond’s son

You had heard terrible things about him in the last months 

That he married Floris Barahteon

that she died trying to bring forth a deformed child

That it was because a witch from Harrenhal, Alys Rivers had poisoned her because she tried to take away her lover

Yes, Aemond had taken a Strong bastard as a lover 

You could say he had a type

Things took a turn when your mother took King’s Landing

You assured her you were better here, in Dragonstone, “holding the fort”, as it were, you did not want to go back to that palace, even though, staying here alone would probably tell Aemond that you were here…

But…

He had taken wives and mistresses, so maybe, only maybe, he had forgotten about you 

Oh how wrong you were

Your baby boy was about to have his first name day when you heard the terrible news

King’s Landing had fallen

Because your stepfather, Daemon, has challenged Aemond, who remained the biggest threat, to a single combat with their dragons above the God’s eye, and he had perished

And Aemond survived it…

He and an injured Aegon took back the capital, slayed your mother, your remaining baby brother Joffrey had perished as well

And you stood in Dragonstone, alone

Dragonless, powerless

The houses loyal to your mother’s cause were in disarray, and even though her cause was still alive and well, it was hard to find something to fight for, your baby brother Aegon the III had been captured by The Usurper, and nobody looked at you, the known disgraced daughter of Rhaenyra 

You didn’t have time to ponder, or to grief

7 days after the death of your mother, sails and wings were seen upon the horizon

Ships dressed in black, gold and Green, and the monstrous Vhagar guarding them

Your people fought valiantly, knowing they were going to perish, they did not have enough strength to repel the force and defend the castle… and yet… they fought to die, for your mother’s cause, for you

But it wasn’t long… until you heard rushed step running down the stone hallway and towards your room, armor and sword clashing, screams and wails of agony

You shushed your baby, who was whimpering, ready to start crying

You sat in a chair in the corner furthest from the door, you had a vial of Tears of Lys, the maester had concocted for you

“For its preferable death than what they do to women on a siege”, He had said, it was enough for you... and for….

You looked down at your son, who was looking up at you with his big beautiful eyes.

His dragon, barely a hatchling, wailed and cried in the corner, flapping his silvery wings, he knew his bonded human was in danger, of his own mother, your thought, he filed shortly to stand in the armchair by your side, protecting your baby

You couldn’t do it

You couldn’t take the life of your own child, and not even your own

If you perished, who was going to care for your child? bastard prince?

The doors opened suddenly and soldier wearing the golden dragon on their chest threw themselves at you

You threw the vial on one of the soldiers face, making him cry out when the liquid got in his eyes

But they were vicious

You only started crying and screaming when one of them ripped your son from your arms, as another grabbed your limbs to tear from him

You kicked and screamed profanities as you son wailed when he was parted from you.

His dragon was caught by the neck but screeched and threw little flames that made the soldier curse

But he knew better than to harm him

“Let me go! traitors! usurper cunts!”, you were lashing out, scared for your son, your child

They dragged you through the hallways and corridors, trough halls and rooms

You knew exactly where you were going

Anywhere you looked you saw people killed, soldiers, servants, you looked at each of them, knowing their names and their faces, it was a sign of respect, a last thanks for their loyalty and sacrifice

The double doors of the throne room opened, and there he was

Sitting on the Dragonstone throne

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond’s face was one of complete satisfaction, but completely changed when he saw him

Your son, in the arms of another soldier, entered behind you

He paled, he was shocked… He knew you were in this castle, that is why he came so quickly, he had to take it, and retrieve you… But he never expected this… he knew you had been with child, but his spies never managed to confirm the birth of the baby… so he thought of the worse

The child… he had white hair, big eyes just like him… his head filled with silver curls

He didn’t even had to think about it

This was his son

You were pregnant, you had his child in your belly when you escaped his grasp

“Everyone, leave”, everyone left except for the soldiers who were holding you tightly

Aemond walked slowly towards you

He was the same as he was the last time you saw him

Maybe more… adult… he seemed tired, older, crueler….

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for two years”, he started, “to see you again… tu punish you for betraying me” 

“I didn’t…”, only with his look he got you to stay quiet

“You ran away from me… took my son with you”

“I didn’t know…”, you muttered defensively

Your son, Aerion, got strangely quiet, looking at his father with curiosity, and Aemond turned to him, and he drew a smile on his face

“This was going to be a lot different…”, he said as a threat, he dared to touch his cheek with his finger. Aerion playfully turned with a smile on his face and wiggled in the soldier’s embrace 

He planned on dragging you by the hairs, humiliating you in front of the Lords of the Crownlands, making you kneel and crawl, or worse…

But he never expected this

His son

He didn’t even have to ask, or do the math, he… this was his son, his flesh and blood.

“What’s his name?”, he asked softly, taking the babe from the soldier’s embrace, accommodated him in his arms

“Aerion”, you said simply, “Aerion…”

“Aerion Waters”, he completed, you frowned

“My stepfather named him a Targaryen, my mother legitimize him, he is a Targaryen”, you defended, then his dragonling roared, making himself known

Aemond smiled widely

“He hatched a dragon…”, he said, pride in his voice

Angry tears fell from your eyes

Aemond had killed your baby brother, your stepfather… And now he was happily holding his son, your son

“He is mine”, you whined, he looked at you, as you cried, “he is my son, and mine alone!”, you whined, at the sound of your voice, Aerion reached for you with his chubby hands, waggling frantically in his father’s arms 

“He is my son too”, he said, trying to pull him away. The soldiers grabbed you tightly 

“How do you know?”, you asked, and he laughed 

“I knew what happened that night when you left me, I tortured that wretched old man, and he confessed to me, that you were with child”

“That’s why you killed my baby brother?”, you asked, it’s been almost two years,

“They took you from me”, he said simply, “they took my son…”, he kept reaching for you, you tried to go to him but they grabbed you even tighter, “he is the sole reason… the mere thought of his existence, is what led me to win against my vicious uncle, is what gave me the strength…”

Your son was your reason to live, everyone else was gone, only he remained, you had to fight for him, you couldn’t leave him alone, you couldn’t leave him at Aemond’s mercy…. More tears fell from your eyes as you whimpered in fear

“Please… don’t harm him”, you whined, Aemond was so unpredictable, and his temper was feeble, you could never guess what he was going to do

“HARM HIM?”, he asked, enraged, “he is my son and heir… how could I ever harm him?”, he said, “I’ve killed for him…”

“What are you going to do?”, you asked then

He looked back at you, his gaze changed, fargone was the cruel and mean, his eye softened, his mouth untightened 

You hated him now

You did

And he could see it

“He is my son and heir, and I will say that publicly”, he said calmly, “I will take him with me abc to King’s Landing”

“NO!”, you fought to release yourself from their grasp, you did, “he is mine! he is mine!”, you screamed, Aerion began mumbling and whining, wanting to reach you again

“If you want to come with him, with me…”, he then smiled as yous tilled, “beg me for it”

“What?”, you whined

“Beg me to take you with me, beg for my forgiveness for abandoning me, and beg me to let you see my son”

“HE IS MINE!”, you cried, “he is mine you can’t take him!”

“Beg”, he demanded, you weep as the soldiers released you

You couldn't lose him, not your baby, you son

He could take him, he could command his soldiers to slice your neck right then and there, and your son would be alone

So with trembling legs, you fell to the ground, you heard your son whimper, threatening to start crying

And you kneeled in front of the man that raped you, that killed your brother and your stepfather

“Please”, you begged, “don’t take him from me… he is the only thing I have…”, you weeped, Aemond smiled widely 

“And what would you have me do?”, he asked

“Please I beg of you, take me with him”, you cried, “take me with you”, you continued, wiping your tears, “please, I’ll do whatever you want please, don’t take him away from me”

When Aerion realized that his “father” was not going to release him, he started crying loudly, wiggling and reaching even more strongly for you

“You'll do as commanded”, he said, his patience short, “or I will lock you up in the black cells and you will never see your son again”

“Please”, you begged, “not him”

“Very well”, he said, pleased 

Aemond got what he always wanted, he got you, and a son, and even though he reveled in the thought that he had tainted you with a bastard… he thought enough is enough

You kept your word, receiving Aemond in your bed, back in your life, you did everything he wanted

He kept his in turn, he married you through a Valyrian ceremony

Aegon died of his wounds, he left no children behind him, so Aemond was named King of the Seven Kingdoms, and your son was Prince of Dragonstone, and you, became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms

Nobody complained about the fact that you were not married when he was born

Your life wasn’t happy… but Aemond was pleased with you, so he didn't harm you… much, and you were allowed to see your son everyday

You were never going to forgive him for killing your family, but you had no choice, but stand at his side

Once you were married, you got pregnant again, you gave birth to a little girl you named Aerea, an egg was placed in her crib, an old egg, that was of Aegon’s delusion, and against all odds, it hatched for her

Aemond was thrilled

he sat on the throne with his son perched on his leg, and his daughter in his arms

You actually helped him settle as King

You gave him two more children, a boy, Rhaegar, and three years later, another boy you named Maekar

You found consolation in your babies, and the fact that after you and Aemond are gone, your mother’s blood was going to sit the Iron Throne 

Edit

Aemond kept visiting Alys Rivers, his mistress, that relieved you, until her and her bastard's death at a fire in Harrenhal, nobody ever find the culprit, even though all eyes turned to Corlys Velaryon

THE END

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[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Crack fic where Maedhros and Maglor have no concept of half elven ages

__

"We can't take them back with us," Maedhros said.

"They're just children though, they won't survive on their own!"

"That's exactly the point!"

"What do you mean? I know children won't be much use in the fortress, but we can feed two spare mouths."

"They're far too young for us to be able to care for them."

"Come on, they look like they're at least twenty. I'm sure they know calculus and how to spin by now, even if they're not yet tall and strong enough for more."

"You haven't been keeping track of diplomatic news, or indeed of time at all. We sacked Doriath not three decades ago, and Elwing their mother was an infant then."

"Humans grow fast." Maglor shrugged. "She obviously grew enough to have children, and within a year or two."

"Gil-Galad mentioned that Elwing gave birth to twin boys in a letter only six years ago. And before you ask, I'm sure she didn't also have older children, these were very clearly the first heirs for the Iathrim."

"What? But - they're so tall!"

"Like you say, men grow fast. They grow unevenly though, without enough time to learn everything properly. Those boys may not even know their letters, or how to identify pewter from lead."

"At six years old, what do they even eat? Celebrimbor nursed until he was nearly eight!"

"They might be old enough to survive weaning, but I'm not sure, and we have no one breastfeeding in our camp at the moment, without anyone born since the Nirnaeth."

"I've heard of using cow's milk or sheep's milk to feed babies, rather than just making cheese. Do you think they'd tolerate it?"

"Maybe, but we can't be sure. It's better to leave them here with all the other people who's homes we destroyed; there were enough babies wailing during the battle someone can surely take in the princes."

"Perhaps, if anyone finds them in the next day. Most people fled the city, and I doubt they'll return before the fires die down."

"I'm not going to take in infants just to let them starve."

"Me neither! But I can ask them if they're weaned. They understand Sindarin, and talk, at least enough to call for their mother."

"A child that young will just say they eat nothing but honey and cake, if you let them choose their diet."

"If they know they like cake, that means they can eat solids, and I'll give them normal food."

"Fine. You can ask them, and if they're weaned they'll survive as well with us as any where else."

"And if they're not?"

"I send a couple scouts to follow the sounds of screaming children and deliver two more."

"Maedhros!"

"What? I can't bring their mother back, nor can my most imperious command make someone lactate."

"So you're giving up?"

"No, I already told you my plan." Maedhros sighed. "And I will send a few people to look for goats or ewes we can take with us. We already sacked the city; might as well loot it."

"You're convinced to make everything the most horrible possible."

"Excuse me for being pessimistic when our brothers just died for nothing."

"Fine, I'm going."

"Good."

[shanastoryteller]

Happy pride! Can I request god!percy or dealers choice

Aziraphale is a hostage and he doesn't even know it.

There must always be a Supreme Archangel in Heaven.

The Ineffable Plan is shit and it was shit from the start and Crowley doesn't feel a lick of guilt in the part he played in destroying it. Humanity deserved a fighting chance, after all, and they'd made good on it - Adam, a boy after his own heart, had made the choice to save them all.

Crowley had not created the universe only to watch Her destroy it. That was always Her problem, really. Great big ideas and piss poor execution. Which is why She'd give him a long list of impossible ridiculous things and he would work out how to make that make sense in a world where sense is a thing that had to be made.

Eden was a trial run, one of many. Making people in Her own image was proving difficult, because She didn't know what She looked like and had always been resistant to hearing Herself described.

She'd made Adam in the angel's image, and Eve, and it looked like She'd finally made a successful prototype.

Then they'd fought over what was to be made of Earth, of the people, of all the things he'd made in the vastness of space. If there's no people to tilt their heads back and look at it, what's the point of making it? If galaxies exist, but they evoke no wonder, are they even there?

He had decided to make things difficult. He had decided that if humanity was going to go toe to well, metaphorical toe with Her, then they needed an edge.

They needed Knowledge.

His sentencing had been swift and unanimous and he wasn't going to be a 38th level recording angel scrivener, thank you very much. They'd talked and talked about how terrible the PR would be, over another prince of Heaven falling to Hell, and how difficult he was making everything and how extremely bitter they were that he, as a writer in the Book of Life, could not be erased from it without also erasing everything he'd done, which was rather a lot. Pages eleven to three million six hundred and two, to be exact.

So he had not fallen, precisely, so much as sauntered vaguely downwards.

Which he felt was rather obvious, and yet no one seemed to notice, the same way he was able to march back into Heaven with a clothing change. He was impossible, and so he could not exist, and so he did not.

He had wings and he could perform miracles indistinguishable from an angel's and yet no one ever suspected a thing.

He'd though that maybe he would be made when he walked onto holy ground to bail out Aziraphale, but luckily angels don't often seen demons walking into churches. Usually because that's about when they catch fire.

Which suited him just fine, actually. It had all worked out, more or less, until now.

Saraqael had not forgotten him and didn't even try and tell him off for walking right into Heaven. Michael and Uriel's silence had been odder, but he'd had more important things to focus on at the time.

Now he understands why.

They want a new Plan and She isn't giving them one.

The Metatron knows there is one angel who worked alongside Her in the universe's creation. One angel who successfully interfered in Her plans and knocked things astray. One angel who's hands rested besides Hers on the Book of Life.

They don't want Aziraphale to lead.

They want the Archangel Raphael back in his rightful place, the Supreme Archangel, and they want him to once more muck about in Her plans and give them the war they're craving.

And they know going through Aziraphale is their only chance, the one person that could tempt Crowley into taking up his old name and his old mantel and stepping foot once more in blasted Heaven with his halo around his head rather than tattooed along his face.

They have Aziraphale.

Now Crowley can only wait and hope that he figures out the truth in time, before he's forced to defy Aziraphale like he once defied Her.

[theenchantresx]

Flames of the North

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Elyria Stark (OC)

Summary: Sent to Storm's End as a messenger of her House, Elyria Stark did not expect to find herself in the midst of courtly intrigue. But when she catches the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, duty and desire clash in a dance of fire and ice.

Word Count: 3,900 words

Warning: smut, violence ... Nothing else (?) not proofread

The storm that battered the walls of Storm's End was a mere whisper compared to the tempest within Elyria Stark. The winds whipped her cloak around her as she strode through the castle's halls, her thoughts a tangled knot of duty, desire, and fear. She had never expected her simple mission to deliver a message from the North to Lord Borros Baratheon to spiral into this—a dangerous dance with a prince as wild and untamable as the dragons his House commanded.

From the moment she had arrived, she had sensed the undercurrents of tension in the air, but she had not anticipated the force of Aemond Targaryen. He was not like the stories she had heard, not just cold and calculating, but something fiercer, darker—a man driven by a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

She had witnessed that fire firsthand, seen it in the way he looked at her, a gaze that seemed to strip away her defenses and expose the raw, vulnerable heart beneath. Aemond was not a man to be crossed, and yet, she found herself drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

It had been a mistake, she knew that now, to think she could remain unaffected by him. She had come to Storm’s End with a single purpose, to serve her House and return to Winterfell unscathed. But Aemond had a way of unraveling her carefully laid plans, of igniting something within her that she had long kept buried.

Now, as she stood in the great hall of Storm's End, facing the furious glares of the Baratheon sisters, she realized just how deeply she had been pulled into Aemond's orbit. The storm was no longer just outside; it was here, in this very room, crackling in the air like lightning about to strike.

"You've bewitched him, haven't you?" Maris Baratheon hissed, her voice dripping with venom. The eldest of Lord Borros's daughters, Maris had always been the most ambitious, the most determined to secure her place as the future queen consort. "Prince Aemond was meant to choose one of us, to unite our houses. But now, thanks to you, everything is ruined."

Elyria held her ground, though her heart raced with the tension in the room. "I have done nothing but fulfill my duty as a Stark. Whatever choices Prince Aemond makes are his own."

Cassandra Baratheon, ever the composed one, stepped forward with a steely gaze. "Do not play coy, Lady Stark. We all saw the way he looked at you, the way he followed you out of the hall last night. You have stolen his attention, and with it, our future."

"I did not ask for his attention," Elyria replied, her voice firm despite the unease gnawing at her. "I came here to deliver a message, nothing more."

But even as she spoke, she knew it was a half-truth. She had felt the heat of Aemond’s gaze, the way it burned into her, the way it had made her pulse quicken and her breath hitch. There was no denying the connection between them, no matter how dangerous it was.

Ellyn Baratheon, the most hot-tempered of the sisters, sneered. "Lies. You’ve bewitched him with your northern coldness, made him forget his duty to the Crown. But we will not let you destroy what is ours."

Before Elyria could respond, the door to the hall swung open with a force that made everyone flinch. Aemond Targaryen stood in the doorway, his presence like a thunderclap, silencing the room. His silver hair, tousled from the storm outside, framed a face carved from marble, cold and unyielding. But it was his eye—the one not hidden by the patch—that held the room captive, a blazing violet that promised retribution to anyone who dared cross him.

"What is this?" Aemond's voice was a low growl, each word laced with the threat of violence. "What are you saying to Lady Stark?"

Maris, ever bold, met his gaze, though her voice trembled slightly. "We are speaking of your duty, my prince. You were sent here to choose a bride, to secure the loyalty of House Baratheon, yet you have been distracted by this… northern girl."

Aemond's lip curled into a snarl, and he took a menacing step forward. "My duty? Do you dare to lecture me on my duty, Lady Maris? I know what I was sent here to do, and I do not need the counsel of girls who think they understand the weight of a crown."

Elyria could see the fear in the sisters' eyes now, the realization that they had pushed too far. But Aemond was far from finished.

"I came here out of obligation, not desire," Aemond continued, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "But let me make one thing clear: I am not a prize to be won by the highest bidder, nor a puppet to dance on strings. I choose my fate, not my brother, not my grandfather, and certainly not you."

Cassandra, always the peacemaker, tried to step in. "Prince Aemond, we meant no disrespect—"

"Enough!" Aemond snapped, his eye blazing. "You speak of disrespect, but you stand here, daring to question my choices, my will. Do you think I do not see through you? You, who would tear each other apart for a chance at power, dare to challenge me?"

The hall was deathly silent, the sisters too stunned and terrified to speak. Elyria, too, felt the raw power of Aemond's wrath, but there was something else beneath it—a dark, simmering intensity that called to the very core of her being.

Aemond’s gaze finally turned to her, the storm in his eye softening ever so slightly. "Lady Stark, you will come with me. Now."

There was no room for argument in his tone, but Elyria found herself rooted to the spot, caught between the fury of the Baratheon sisters and the inferno that was Aemond Targaryen. "I—"

"Now," Aemond repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

She nodded, unable to defy him, and followed as he turned and strode out of the hall, the tension in the room suffocating. The sisters watched them go, their resentment palpable, but none dared to stop them.

As they moved through the corridors, the silence between them was heavy, filled with the things neither dared to say. When they reached a secluded part of the castle, Aemond suddenly stopped, turning on her with a ferocity that took her breath away.

"Do you know what you’ve done?" he hissed, his hands gripping her arms, pulling her close. "Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"

Elyria’s heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to flinch. "I did nothing but exist in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Aemond’s grip tightened, his eye blazing with that same dangerous intensity. "You have no idea, do you? From the moment I saw you, I knew—I knew that you would be my undoing, and yet I couldn’t stay away. You’ve stirred something in me, something dark and wild, and I am not a man who enjoys being out of control."

His words sent a thrill through her, mingled with fear. "Then let me go," she whispered, though even she knew it was a lie. "Release me, and we can both return to our duties, to our lives."

But Aemond only laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Release you? No, Elyria. I cannot. You are mine now, and I am yours, whether we like it or not. We are bound by this fire, this fury, and there is no escaping it."

Elyria’s breath caught as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "You’ve awakened something in me, something that will not be tamed. Do you think I care for the Baratheons? For alliances? I care for one thing, and one thing only."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze piercing, unrelenting. "You."

The word hung between them, heavy with the weight of all that it implied. Elyria’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. She should be afraid, should be running as far from Aemond Targaryen as she could, but all she could feel was the pull, the inexorable draw towards the flame that was him.

"You are playing with fire, Aemond," she whispered, though there was no strength in her words.

Aemond’s lips curled into a dangerous smile, his thumb brushing against her jaw. "I am fire, Elyria. And so are you. Together, we will burn the world if we must."

And with that, he claimed her lips in a kiss that was fierce, demanding, full of the raw, untamed power that had always simmered beneath the surface. It was not a kiss of gentle affection, but one of possession, of dominance, as if he was marking her as his own.

Elyria responded in kind, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. There was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, the fire that consumed them both, and the storm that raged within.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their gazes locked in a silent understanding. There was no turning back now, no returning to the way things had been before. The path they had chosen was fraught with danger, with darkness, but it was theirs.

"We are bound," Aemond said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "By blood, by fire, by fate. No one will come between us, not the Baratheons, not my family, not even the gods themselves."

Elyria nodded, her own voice barely above a whisper. "Then let the world burn, Aemond. If that is what it takes."

Aemond’s smile was fierce, triumphant, as he pulled her into another kiss, sealing their fate with the heat of their shared desire. And as the storm outside battered the walls of Storm’s End, inside, two forces of nature collided, forging a bond that would either lead to their destruction—or their ultimate victory.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Was Red Son going up to heaven and being granted unlimited access to their library the first time he met his grandmother or ANY of his grandparents?

Idk about DBK'S extended family situation, but if that's Red Son's first introduction to her (biological) extended family OMG that's probably a lot to handle with everything else going on in their life.

Ref.

In terms of paternal family; there isn't much left. DBK's parents kicked him out after he made it clear he was marrying Iron Fan, and her alone. His younger brother Ruyi inherited everything as the sole heir after their parents passed from age. DBK always thought that his parents had strayed from their demonic roots, many demon clans had - preferring to mimic the mortal or celestial politics beyond the Underworld.

DBK kinda wishes Red had time to know his paternal grandparents, but he knows they wouldn't have approved of the boy either. They might have seen him as a worthy bargaining chip for marriage contracts, but doubts much else.

The less said about Ruyi the better.

As for PIF's side of the family? Well...

My hc is that Red Son accidentally met his maternal grandmother before - during New Years when he and Mei broke into the Peach Orchard.

Xiwangmu can recognise her daughter's features from a mile away. And farther still, the flickers of her own True Fire. But she simply patted both of them on the heads and sent them on their way. Her heart grew fond seeing "little ones" running around the gardens again, like how her daughters used to as cubs/hatchlings. If she knew her kin, she knew that the little fire opal would stumble back into their lives again eventually.

After the events of Season 3 and with LBD nearly destroying the world - Heaven had to get involved with the clean up (LBD broke a lot of laws).

Nezha, who knew Red Son when he was an infant, was ultimately the first one to ask openly;

Nezha: "Haven't you ever actually met your mother's parents?" Red Son, busy fixing the van: "No. She never discussed them. The only time I asked, she said that they were not welcome in our lives. I felt it was rude to pry." Nezha: "...you know we're cousins right?" Red Son: "EHH!?!"

In Red Son's defence; he just thought Nezha babysat him as a favour to an old fighting buddy. Turns out the real reason was because Nezha was the only member of the Celestial Royal Family brave enough to sneakily keep contact with Iron Fan after the war.

So now Red Son is dealing with the knowledge that he's a Celestial Royal Prince!?

Red Son begins accompanying Nezha to the Celestial Realm - not feeling comfortable without a chaperone to defend him. At first just to tag along with boring post-battle stuff; notably returning Lao Tzu's furnace. The alchemist was annoyed by the loss of three pills, but impressed that Red Son managed to concoct a cure to whatever LBD added to Spider Queen's venom on the fly.

And Lao Tzu is terrible for keeping secrets...

Within the next few visits; Nezha and Red Son are stopped by Celestial Guards. Seems that the Jade Emperor himself wants an audience with the fire demon.

Red Son swallows a lump in his throat. Nezha gives him a sympathetic, but supportive smile.

The Jade Emperor is... a lot taller than Red Son expected. But the woman at his side is familiar somehow...

Xiwangmu, delighted: "I told you he'd return, my jade!" Jade Emperor, stony face: "So he has." Red Son, remembering: "Hey, wait a minute! You're the woman from the orchard! You let me take a peach!" Xiwangmu, tittering: "Of course! I cannot deny my own grandchildren the fruits of my garden!" Red Son, stuttering: "Y-you knew...?" Xiwangmu, dismounting her throne: "Of course. It's not hard to recognise the tiny face I saw the day I nearly lost my youngest daughter. I still have my duty as Goddess to protect new mothers from misfortune after all... Tieshan is a proud woman. She rejected my help up until she lost consciousness. Then your father begged for me to intervene. Despite our animosity, he still kowtowed to me to save her and you. I respect him for it." Red Son, realising: "You... you knew about me since I was born. Then... why didn't you try contacting me?" Xiwangmu, shares sad glance with her husband: "If I had... It would have placed a terrible spotlight on our youngest grandchild. If the Realms had even suspected, imagine how many demons and celestials alike would have gladly torn you asunder?" Jade Emperor, finally speaking: "Once your True Fire emerged, it would not be long until people began questioning your heritage. Only my wife and your cousin Li Nezha have wielded it before you." Xiwangmu: "We were so delighted when Guanyin took you on as her disciple! It eased our worries so much that your aunt was keeping an eye on you!" Red Son, first time hearing this lore: "Wait what?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN AUNT!?!"

Red Son was starting to get used to visiting the Celestial Realm and getting to know his maternal family.

IF PIF and DBK saw him leave the palace and return with books from the imperial library, they didn't make any comment on it.

Then Season 4 happened...

Red Son's warning may have been too late to truly save his grandfather, but it was enough to evacuate the Queen Mother and the Princesses. The celestial army didn't believe him at first, but Nezha was quick to support his judgement. It only took a quick fact check with the Ten Kings to confirm that the Scroll of Memory was indeed missing, and that the three former-celestial agents were now loose upon the mortal realm.

The last time Red Son saw his grandfather alive was when he tried dragging him off his throne, not even big enough to fully grasp a finger.

The Jade Emperor refused to budge.

Jade Emperor: "Why are you here alone?" Red Son, crying from panic: "The Brotherhood-! They wanted to recruit Father back into their ranks, but he refused! Mother leapt to take the blow meant for him and he-! His last act was to try and save her!" Jade Emperor, noticeably stiffens: "The Brotherhood struck them down?" Red Son: "N-no. But they captured them in the Scroll of Memory. But! If Azure wanted to, he could snap the bamboo containing their souls! Please! I beg of you! Evacuate with the Queen Mother, so you won't suffer the same fate!" Jade Emperor: (*sighs with relief upon hearing Iron Fan is alive. settles back into his throne*) Jade Emperor: "...Child. If you are so insistent on protecting this world, go confront the Brotherhood at your cousin's side. I am not a helpless old fool." Red Son: "But-!" Jade Emperor: "But nothing! I am not ordering you as an Emperor. But as your grandfather. Leave me here to greet my foes, as a demon king facing a warrior's end." Red Son, stops trying to drag him: "I... I will ensure that they never make it past those doors! You can count on me! Nezha and I will crush them!" Jade Emperor: "I know you can. You are my daughter's son." Red Son: (*says nothing else, but tearfully nods to his grandfather for what he correctly feels is the last time. fire teleports away.*)

In canon it was only after the Scroll was collected and the captives free did anyone in the Celestial Realm confirm that the Jade Emperor was no longer with them.

But in the case of the extended royal family; they knew the moment Xiwangmu roared to the Heavens. A connection in her heart severing like a line of red string cut. The last time her grief shook the realms, she tore open the Heavenly River itself and flooded the earth. Now the skies are beginning to crack... doesn't take a genius to know why the Queen Mother is weeping.

In the aftermath, Red Son and his parents are released from the Scroll. Only to see Xiwangmu and the Maidens. The elderly tigress crying waterfalls into her hands as her elder daughters cling to her robes and sob.

Iron Fan's normally stoic expression breaks. She calls to her mother, dropping to her knees and burying her face in her arms like she's a child all over again. Even without words, the princess knows.

The Bull King does not join the women, but he gives clear permission to his child to. Red Son didn't even need to ask.

Xiwangmu: "You were the last one to see him, fire opal. What were his last words to you?" Red Son, clinging to PIF: "He said... that I was his daughter's son." PIF: (*breathes a shocked gasp through her tears!*) Xiwangmu, smile breaking through: "Typical Yudi. Deciding things without telling me." Red Son: "What do you mean?" Nezha: "The Jade Emperor has not recognised Princess Iron Fan has his daughter since the war." DBK, voice a mix of shock/delight: "He recognises your mother as his daughter again. Which means he-" PIF, determinedly wiping her tears: "He recognises you as his legitimate grandson, and as an heir to the Celestial Throne." Red Son: (*too shocked to speak. makes tea kettle sound as flame hair dies to embers. faints Yamcha-style*)

[corpsebasil]

Cant stop thinking about Grisha!Reader with a horrifying past and Prince Nikolai during the war.

Don’t come for me just hear me out—it’s a concept for a longer series I’ve been thinking about for a long time so just read the concept and lemme know. This would be published after I’m done with Modern!Nikolai.

^^^ you after everything that happens.

You and your three Inferni sisters.

You’ve always been the most talented. The smartest, the strongest, the bravest. The most steady. Loyal to Ravka and its royal family. The prince himself, Nikolai, grew an attachment to you after a ball in which you and your siblings performed a celebratory dance, all flowing silk ribbons and laughter and gold jewelry flashing in the light.

But then the war started.

The Darkling offered you a choice: join him, or your family would suffer the consequences.

You falsely believed him to be wrong.

First came the two eldest of your younger siblings. One had been strung up like a common prisoner and displayed in front of the Little Palace, the constantly serene expression she’d always worn in life now twisted in a dead mask of fear.

The second sister, one who’d been a fighter in life, had been ran through with a sword.

You could do nothing.

“I’ll protect our family.” You’d sworn to your youngest sister, clutching her shaking body to your own after the discovery of your two murdered sisters. Even though you were breaking, you insisted. “I promise.”

You broke that promise.

The Darkling came in the night.

One moment your youngest sister—your baby sister—was there, alive and breathing. The next, she was slumped onto the floor, the life in her eyes gone as you wailed out your grief, clutching her in the same way you had before to your chest.

So you turned to dark magic.

You learned secrets of the Inferni that should never be found. You destroyed yourself and Nikolai, sweet Nikolai, could do nothing as you broke any part of you that was necessary to avenge the deaths of your siblings.

You slaughtered the Darkling’s soldiers. With fire and brutality, you slaughtered them.

But it was pointless, wasn’t it?

Because now you’ve been practically gutted at the final battle, lying on a too-bright field, gasping for air as Nikolai bends over you, one hand helping to keep your essential parts inside your stomach.

“It can’t all be for nothing.” You lament, clutching his shirt as the bloods drains from your body. His eyes are tear-filled and devastated as he holds you, his hands soaked in red. “Lose them..for nothing.”

When you die, he buries you beside your sisters.

Sorry HAHA

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

(The following is some rambling, FEH Spoilers ahead if you care)

I hope at the end of FE:Heroes life, that instead of it just becoming a forgotten mobile game, a fully fledged game is made out of it. Because I really do think having a FE game that have shorter Saga's would be really fun to play through. And just how much Alfonse could be challenged in a full game where he can MASSIVELY develop instead of the time strides he's made in the mobile game.

Of corse of a full game they'll need to change several things such as how much of their army is made up of heroes from other worlds. But having this HUGE skeleton with FEH for a full game could make one of the best, if not the best, Fire Emblem main line game.

Like, we have the set up to have Alfonse really turn into his own. He's gets to talk to past heroes and other world versions of those heroes. There is so much he can learn from them all but more importantly, so many people to compare him to. Just feeling like a failed leader because all these heroes that saved worlds are around him, while he's a prince in a world that's currently in a war with his neighboring country.

He keeps feeling this way until he meets the Summoner (Avatar Character). Someone from another world who isn't a hero. They're just an average somebody in that world. Even though they are able to use a Devine weapon that belongs to his family, he fights with them and grows closer as friends. He learns that it doesn't matter name or status, but what you do with your own strength to help everyone you can. And even when you can't save everyone, you can always work together with others to raise you and everyone to the point where you can save more people than you could alone.

While the first two Books of FEH didn't really do much for Alfonse, I do think in a full game they would be able to have a better foil with Bruno through these early parts. While Veronica is a very tragic character, she is more so Shernna's foil through the first book and then becomes a fascinating character through the rest of the books (so far). If the story would follow Alfonse's point of view, it would do wonders to REALLY push that foil with Bruno more and more until that foil changes into irony and tragedy that was played in the later books.

While Book 3 was one of the biggest breaking points for Alfonse's charcter, I really do belive that if Alfonse were to have a stronger written connection with Bruno early on. The death of Bruno would hit harder. We know Bruno and Alfonse were childhood friends to the point Alfonse's first actions we see is looking for Bruno (Under his fake name, Zacharius). Hell, you can make this hurt even more by adding an underlying feeling Alfonse had for Bruno. But seeing as Bruno meant a LOT to Alfonse at such a young age, where he was still getting compared to his father and other heroes. To just have someone that wouldn't judge you, have fun with you, and make you laugh. Most people would devolve some romantic feelings for that. While this seems more fanficy just because "Lead turned GAY for Enemy?!" It's use in a story here would push character development further.

Some of the best stories ever written i've read are about building up the base of a character. Only to destroy EVERYTHING about them. Leaving only their bare core and true thoughts on display. Only for them to either have the story end with such a melancholy finish that it just feels. Or give that charcter a way to rebuild themselves stronger, more ferm in their ideals then ever to change the odds. Alfonse is someone, if given enough time and attention in a full game, to be this charcter. He already has enough set up within FEH for this to become real. He really is burdened by the form of media he's in.

I don't really have any closing notes after that but yeah. Alfonse is actually one of the best Fire Emblem Lords when you think about it. Put him in the next smash game

.

[pyromaniacbibliophile]

The Wild and the Sun

He always knew this was how it would have to be.

Bacchanalias are held at twilight and that is his earliest hour. The grapes bloom unseen at night as he languishes alone in the shadows, intercut with wild parties with a thousand perfect strangers learning the power of intoxication.

He sips wine darker than Nyx's outstretched wing and laughs with the owls. Thorn and tangled branches move aside for him as he makes his way through the forest. Eponine's domain, but at night his for mania and parties while she shines as Artemis Selene, the haunting moon.

He is wild. Wild things live in the dark, with their parties and their wine and their heady sin. Therefore he is wild. The black-moonshine of twisted trees and vines makes his home, patterned with grapes as deep purple as his eyes. Wild gods, gods of fang and claw and vines and dances, don't belong in the sun's sharp glow.

But oh, how he longs to.

Shining Enjolras. Apollo Phoebus. The sun, bright in the sky from dawn to twilight while he lounges in dark caves thick with grapevines. Enjolras. He is a god amongst gods, for surely even the Olympians must bow to his glow.

He is no Olympian, though he matches them in power he does not in mind, Cosette deserves such a place more than he, god of the unloved and the drunk and the wild. Olympus, with its gold and white and brightness unrivalled and cruel, is not his home.

Apollo, Enjolras, is everything he isn't. Beautiful, shining, fire. A god of logic, of the people, of justice and the sun. Power and heat to compel even the wisest- young, maniac, Combeferre Athenus's descendant, foolish Icarus fell, intoxicated by Enjolras's might and glory. Nothing but a child, yet he understands. Why would anyone not want to worship the sun, even in death?

Yet what does he know? He is nothing but madness and wine, no matter who or when or where, wine will cool them and the mania will ensnare them. What does he know of justice? Of the people, of logic? His grapes care not for titles or money, wine does not entrance only the peasants or only the nobles, and logic is destroyed by the first honey-sweetened touch of the juice, or the berries.

He is of those who dive into the sea at midnight, illuminated only by the moon Eponine, merely for the fun and the laughter. He is happy to dance from twilight till dawn, sun-down to sun-up, partake of wine and lusts and feasts and indulge in anything he wishes. What does he care for Enjolras?

Ah, but he does. Too, too much, he fears. How, when they have but barely spoken, and that at the cusp of twilight, or dawn- minutes where he can stay in his own wildness and Apollo to his sun-lit lands.

He loves the god of poetry, of rhetoric, of revolution and leaders. Enjolras is his oblivious opposite, his Achilles, his Orestes. He has heard speeches from the vine-patterned shadows of Olympus, listening soft at the edge to music spoken, twined into words with a weave finer than Combeferre's, a power greater than Zeus Valjean, a beauty more stunning than broken Marius Aphrodite.

He has never believed in anything more than drunkeness, wine, parties, mania, and madness. Those were his world but one other has upstaged them all, the belief in Apollo. A king among princes, he would follow Enjolras anywhere. And that is the crux of it.

Anywhere, into the sun even. He knows that, he has acknowledged it. One day, when his worship of the sun exceeds his wildness, he will leave his tangled forest and seek out Apollo. He has never loved carefully, or gently. He loves like ivy, like a wave. Love has always ruled him, so he keeps to his maenads and his shadowed grapevines. But now- well.

In daylight he does not live. He fades. It is not an easy thing to stay wild in the face of civilisation.

Yet all here will keep on partying and falling in love as the days change as simply as a snake shedding. Artemis of forest, Eponine of moon, she is as wild as he and will keep his wild few safe.

Love, true love, is rarely easy. Marius and Hestia, Aphrodite and Cosette- they love in synchronised equality. Enjolras, passionate leader, will not take kindly to himself, the cynical madness.

Yet burns, after all, are still warmth, and fire is no soft lover.

@miriyummy ....

[call-sign-shark]

The King and The Hand || Arthur & Tommy as Targaryen

♠ Aerthurys Targaryen the Dragon Wrath, firstborn of the family and King of Westeros. Sitting on the throne with fire in his veins, he's both feared and respected -- even though his most strategic move comes from his Hand and clever adviser, Thomaryon.

♠ Very pale purple eyes, some discreet white streaks in his hair.

♠ His journey to the throne is scarred by brutal battles.

♠ Smitten with his cousin and future queen, Heavenerys Targaryen since childhood. Aerthurys lost his mind and destroyed everything that was standing on his way when Heavenerys had to marry Amos Bolton. He ended up destroying and maiming him, only leaving him alive to humiliate him.

♠ His Dragon, Nyraxor, is one of the hugest ever seen even though it doesn't hold a candle to Kairaxès. Mostly black, imposing, covered in spikes and horns, Nyraxor has red shaded/gradient scales which make him look like a destructive fire is burning under his skin when the sun hits him.

♠ Thomaryon Targaryen, secondborn of the family and misunderstood prince. Considered the family's black sheep, rumors say that Thomaryon is a bastard due to his lack of Targaryen features.

♠ The common people as well as some members of his own family wanted him out of the royal circle but Aerthurys insisted on keeping Thomaryon by his side both by deep fraternal love and by strategy considering how intelligent Thomaryon is.

♠ Thomaryon eventually became The Hand of the King.

♠ Thomaryon fell in love with Lucy Bolton ( @mischievouslittlecreature ), going by the name Tully. He met her during one of his visits to the north when his cousin, Heavenerys, had to meet Amos Bolton, her future husband.

♠ Syndor, his dragon, is entirely black. Besides Heavenerys, Thomaryon has the strongest bond with his dragon out of all his siblings.

@peakyswritings @mischievouslittlecreature @evita-shelby @justrainandcoffee

[the-pen-pot]

He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near and yet so far. The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below. **** When Merlin is hurt during a bandit attack, Arthur finds himself torn between the longings of his heart and his duties to the crown.

Chapter One

They were going to die.

Merlin's breath stalled in his chest as the dappled sunlight glinted off the blades that surrounded them. They had made camp no more than a candle-mark ago, and many of the knights had taken their ease. Their swords were a few paces away, buried point-first in the earth. Only Elyan had been standing sentry, and now the tip of a dagger pressed into the hollow of his throat: his life nothing but a bargaining chip.

'Don't, Your Highness,' one of the men growled, no doubt noticing how Arthur had glanced towards his weapon. He looked like the leader, scarred and grim: a survivor through-and-through. 'Make a move, and he dies.' He gestured to Elyan. 'Now, how about you hand over that trinket you're carrying? I've a buyer who'll offer a great deal of coin for such a relic.'

Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth, cursing their bad luck. The bandit wasn't wrong; they had been on a quest to retrieve a cursed amulet that was poisoning the land. In theory, only forge-fire could destroy it. That, or a fireball of pure magic. The gold had boiled and seethed as he plucked apart the foul fortune woven into it, and by the time he was done, not a trace of its presence remained. Unfortunately, it seemed perhaps just a touch of its malice had latched onto them – a final vengeance – because with its destruction they had nothing to offer up in surrender.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' A hint of an empty smile hooked Arthur's lips, but Merlin could see that strategic mind at work, racing through the possibilities. He was more than just a pretty face; more than one enemy had forgotten that fact. They may be outnumbered, by they were far from defeated. Arthur would not go down without a fight, and Merlin wasn't about to let him fall to the blade of some two-bit bandit with delusions of grandeur.

'None of that, now.' The knife dug deeper into Elyan's throat, and Merlin winced in sympathy. 'Your men don't have time for these games.'

Around them, the peace thickened, interrupted only by the sigh of the breeze in the branches and the song of the birds. No one dared move. A single flinch could be enough to tip the scene into violence.

Leon's gaze was fixed on Arthur, his determination to keep the Crown Prince safe writ in every line of his expression. His own life would be forfeit if it meant Arthur was spared. Percy ducked his head, watching the closest attacker from beneath his furrowed brow. People never underestimated his strength, but they often overlooked his cunning.

Lancelot seemed to be searching for the right words to diffuse the anger that simmered in the air. Good to his core, Merlin knew he would hope these men could be reasoned with, even when faced with all the evidence to the contrary. Gwaine watched the scene with dark eyes, his expression fixed in that empty, jovial mask that meant everything was about to go to shit. He kept glancing at Elyan, who appeared furious for having been caught off-guard.

All the knights were at the wrong end of at least one sword, but the bandits had dismissed Merlin's presence. After all, he was just a servant. They did not consider him any kind of a threat.

Their mistake.

He reached out with his magic, hoping to plunge them into sleep, but though his power rose willingly to his call, no one so much as swayed on their feet. The spell coiled like smoke around them, invisible, yet no matter how hard Merlin tried, it could not sink its claws into them.

It took longer than he would have liked to notice the charms they wore on their wrists: cheap bits of metal stamped with runes – protections against the efforts of a mage. It seemed unlikely that they knew Arthur counted a sorcerer among his confidants. The Prince and his knights had known about Merlin's magic themselves for less than a year. It remained one of Camelot's best kept secrets, and Merlin cursed his bad luck for coming across a gang of thugs who had some common sense.

If he conjured up a fake and handed it over, it would disintegrate as soon as they touched it. They'd know they were being tricked within moments. Still, just because he could not use his magic on them, that didn't mean he couldn't use it at all.

First things first, he decided, he had to get them and their pointy blades away from Arthur and the others.

'This amulet?'

The illusion in his grasp gleamed butter-gold, as vivid as the real thing. Even if placed side-by-side with the original, he knew no one would be able to tell the difference. His magic leant it a touch of extra sparkle, and he watched an ugly smile crack over the leader's face. His body language shifted as cool eyes raked up and down his frame, no doubt finding him wanting. He saw what Merlin wanted him to see: baggy clothes over a lanky physique; no sword, armour or rank. He looked at Merlin and saw someone harmless, the same as almost everyone else in Camelot.

Everyone who didn't know his secret, anyway.

'Give it here, boy, and no one has to get hurt.' It was said in a cajoling tone, as if the bastard wouldn't stab him in the gut the moment he got close enough to reach. He could see that in his eyes: the cruelty of a bully. Still, that was something he could use. No way would this man like being outwitted by a peasant.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, seeing the emotion in that blue gaze. He knew the amulet was fake: he could guess what Merlin was going to do. It was written in the tension that hardened his jaw and the lines upon his brow. He gave a fractional shake of his head, as if urging him not to go down this road, but they were running out of time. The others needed just one moment: a split-second where the balance shifted, and he could give it to them.

'Why don't you come and get it?'

He darted away like a deer taking flight, ducking through the trees and sprinting into the welcoming gloom of the woods around them. Behind him, shouts of outrage rose in chorus with the clash of swords. The knights had taken advantage of the bandits' distraction, as he had known they would, but they were still outnumbered. He would have to trust in their superior skills to get them all out of this alive.

Arthur's cry of warning – Merlin's name made hoarse by fear – was enough to tell him he was being followed. Even if not for that, he could hear boots crashing through the forest: a steady percussion that underscored the shouting, bellowing rage of the men who chased him.

Merlin ducked under a tree branch, lengthening his stride as roots threw themselves out of his way only to rise up in his wake, forming loops to trip the unwary. He might not be as strong as a knight and he had little luck with wielding a sword, but he could outpace any of them, especially if they were weighed down by chain and plate armour. Dressed in nothing but linen, he was light on his feet, though lacking in protection. He tried to ignore how the space between his shoulder-blades itched, vulnerable. At least the bandits didn't have crossbows. If it came to a fight, they'd have to catch him first.

Voices hounded him, cursing and yelling as his pursuers careened through the undergrowth. Their threats were little more than garbled sounds, too distant to make out, but Merlin knew he'd be in trouble if they got their hands on him.

Overhead, the wind picked up speed, rattling leaves and waving the branches against the sky. His magic rose with it, a rushing swell of power that delved down beneath the roots and surged in the sap of the trees all around him. Wood creaked and groaned, stirred to new life, but Merlin didn't dare look over his shoulder and check what was happening. One stumble could cost him everything.

Was it his imagination, or were the voices baying for his blood getting fewer in number?

It took a moment for him to realise that another noise embellished the air. It started as little more than a low, rolling roar, but by the time the forest turned damp and lush around him, the din of the cascade had grown all-encompassing. It thrummed between the trees, battering at his ears, and he stumbled as the fringe of the woods released him onto a large, flat outcrop of water-slick granite.

Bending over, Merlin braced his hands on his knees, licking the spray from his lips. A stitch bit into his side, and his throat was parched from panting for every breath. Beneath his feet, an underground river found its freedom, tumbling from the top of the cliff into a deep pool below: all frothing rapids and a raging torrent. It was a long drop, at least as high as Camelot's curtain wall, and Merlin grimaced at the dizzying height before turning back to face the way he had come.

The tip of a sword halted him in his stride, and he sucked in a breath as he stared down the length of the blade at the man who gripped its hilt. The leader was alone, his hair matted with sweat and his leathers torn. Blood trailed from a scratch on his cheek, and his eyes were half-mad with rage. His lips pulled back, baring a broken front tooth along with the rest of his snarl. He trembled with anger, but the weapon remained steady and firm, braced to run Merlin through if he so much as flinched.

'The amulet.'

Merlin swallowed, his mind racing. If he tried to duck past him and flee, he'd probably end up with a sword stuck in his back. He couldn't retreat. There was nowhere to go but over the waterfall, and he didn't rate his chances in the tumultuous waters far below. In the end, he had no choice but to open his hand and let his eyes flash gold. The illusion dissipated into sparkling motes as he spread his palms in surrender. 'I don't have it.' He wet his lips before offering a shrug. 'I never did. We destroyed the amulet two days ago. It's long gone.'

The bandit's scream of fury echoed around them, a cresting note of inarticulate anger that rode the clouds of mist boiling up from the foot of the waterfall. Merlin's magic bunched, braced and ready to retaliate, turning the iron arc of the striking sword blow to nothing but ash before it could touch him.

Yet, for all it spared him from the bite of metal between his ribs, his spells did nothing to stop the bandit's body crashing into his own. His legs, already burning from his mad dash through the forest, wobbled at the sudden weight. He staggered, fighting off the clumsy flurry of punches as he grabbed at the man's wrists. It was a useless, frantic scrabble, neither of them able to get the upper hand, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he stumbled backwards.

His foot found nothing but empty air.

There was a split-second of perfect stillness so strikingly clear that he wondered if his magic had stopped the world. Except no. He could feel it, distant and unreachable, pushed from his grasp by the single point of contact where the man's protection charm touched Merlin's palm.

He saw Arthur burst from the forest, wide-eyed and pale-faced. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and fear locked his expression in its clutches. One hand stretched out as if to grab him. So near, and yet so far.

The moment fled. Gravity won, and there wasn't even time for Merlin to cry out as the bandit's weight dragged him over the cliff and into the stormy waters below.

[saintsenara]

always wondered how Snape never clocked that the diary/ring/Harry was a horcrux (other than the plot needed him to remain in the dark). Doesn’t add up that teen Regulus knew what it was and the 38 year old Dark Arts expert and professional double agent who has seen Voldy fail to die never worked it out

honestly, anon? same.

although i think we can work our way around this with a bit of canon-wrangling...

we can probably justify snape not clocking that harry's a horcrux during order of the phoenix, on account of the fact that he's presumably the only human horcrux in existence.

dumbledore says in half-blood prince that using animals as horcruxes is unusual because it's inadvisable, because the behaviour of a sentient horcrux can't be predicted or controlled [and it may, i suppose the implication is, therefore destroy itself, thus defeating the purpose of making it] - and snape is certainly taken aback by dumbledore asking him to keep an eye on nagini.

this could, however, be interpreted as snape being surprised that voldemort - who is highly-strung even by the standards of people who might encase their souls in inanimate objects - would have made an animal horcrux, even though he knows voldemort is able to control nagini through virtue of being a parselmouth.

connected to this, snape's understanding of the attack which harry witnesses on arthur weasley is that voldemort was mentally present in nagini when the attack took place:

“You seem to have visited the snake’s mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment,” snarled Snape. “He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too...”

voldemort is canonically known to be able to possess people - ginny weasley chief among them - and also, by his own admission in goblet of fire, to possess snakes. the assumption snape is making is that voldemort's control over nagini is one of the "standard" possessions the dark lord is capable of - and he must also assume, as mad-eye moody does and as the rest of the order accepts moody's account of, that harry's visions are the result of voldemort possessing or attempting to possess him.

indeed, there's an interesting sense in canon that many of the adult characters don't understand that harry's visions don't resemble what possession typically looks like - which is a genre convention which is in keeping with the overall narrative arc of the series as children's literature. the child-heroes need to be able to work everything out and the adults need to be, at best, politely disinterested - and this manifests itself throughout the seven-book canon in the fact that the child characters understand voldemort considerably better than any of the adult ones.

after all, the only person who points out that harry's experience isn't standard possession is also a child:

“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.” Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. “I forgot,” he said.  “Lucky you,” said Ginny coolly.  “I’m sorry,” Harry said, and he meant it. “So... so do you think I’m being possessed, then?” “Well, can you remember everything you’ve been doing?” Ginny asked. “Are there big blank periods where you don’t know what you’ve been up to?” “No,” he said.  “Then You-Know-Who hasn’t ever possessed you,” said Ginny simply. “When he did it to me, I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing for hours at a time. I’d find myself somewhere and not know how I got there.”

from snape's perspective, then, the idea that nagini and harry are simply being possessed by voldemort - rather than that they're sentient horcruxes [and that harry is a unique type of sentient horcrux, and that voldemort could have been stupid enough to intentionally make his child-enemy who hates him into a receptacle for his soul] - is the result of him applying the principle of occam's razor: that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.

snape does, however, acknowledge that harry and voldemort's mental connection is unusual:

“The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,” said Snape. “Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.” “Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?” Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so. “The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable - when you are asleep, for instance - you are sharing the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.”

obviously, we know that the connection forged between harry and voldemort is that harry's a horcrux. but it's also the case that harry doesn't have the ability to see into voldemort's mind before voldemort is corporeal again. if we assume that dumbledore keeps harry's visions from the earlier parts of goblet of fire secret from snape - and there's no reason why this wouldn't be the case - then snape's understanding of the mental connection between harry and voldemort is presumably that it was caused by voldemort using harry's blood to resurrect himself.

after all, snape must know about the blood protection established by lily's death, since not only the full order [moody mentions it in deathly hallows] but the death eaters also know about it. he will also know that voldemort used harry's blood for the ritual because voldemort did this in order to show off - he's proud of the symbolism, and you can tell he was dining out on it right up until it spectacularly backfired...

the question then becomes whether snape truly deeps what dumbledore's saying when he tells him - during the half-blood prince timeline, but not revealed to us until the end of deathly hallows - that:

“On the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

snape realises, without dumbledore prompting him further, that this means harry has to die. which means, i think, that we can justifiably suggest that snape has twigged that harry needs to die because - in order for a horcrux to be destroyed - the container needs to be damaged beyond all repair...

and - let's be frank - his little argument with dumbledore after this revelation makes perfect sense if he knows that dumbledore is speaking about harry as a horcrux:

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter - ”

snape's beef is that dumbledore secured his cooperation as a spy on the pretence that he could atone for his role in lily's death by protecting harry from voldemort, while dumbledore knew all along that this was never going to happen [snape does not, of course, know that dumbledore reckons harry will be able to return]. clearly, he would have preferred dumbledore to have just smothered harry as a baby, destroyed the horcrux, and saved them all the agony.

and so i think that it's canonically impossible that snape doesn't understand - eventually - that harry's a horcrux.

and i also think that it's canonically impossible that snape doesn't clock the others well before this.

after all, voldemort states in goblet of fire that the reason he's so pissed off by the death eaters who pretended to have renounced him after 1981 is because they knew he couldn't die:

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost... but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know... I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked... for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself... for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand... “I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist... I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited... Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me... one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body... but I waited in vain...”

[he is hamming it up so much here. the man understands camp.]

what he means by this - clearly - is that the fact that he'd made at least one horcrux was common knowledge among his minions, which provides the explanation for why regulus knew what was going on [which i've gone into more detail about here].

which makes sense - voldemort actually tells us in canon that his safeguards aren't that nobody knows he created the horcruxes [and also, if that's what he'd been going for, he'd almost certainly have killed slughorn.]

the section is too long to quote, but if you look at the bit in chapter twenty-seven of deathly hallows when he's panicking that harry and dumbledore have figured out his secrets, the thing he's afraid of isn't that they know he's made horcruxes, but that they've worked out what the objects are and where they might be hidden, something he was certain nobody other than himself would ever be able to discover.

the ring - for example - could only be located by someone who knew voldemort's full birth name, who knew that the name "marvolo" was associated with the gaunts, and who knew where the gaunts had once lived.

the locket - as voldemort understands it, since he assumes kreacher is drowned by the inferi - could only be located by someone who knew that voldemort had, as a child, been taken on an outing to the coast and had lured two children into a cave to torture them.

the diadem could only be located by someone who knew that it wasn't actually lost, knew that helena ravenclaw could be manipulated into revealing where it was, and knew how to open the room of requirement - which voldemort canonically believes is impossible for anyone other than him [even though this makes absolutely no sense to me - there's furniture everywhere, babe?].

the cup could only be located by someone who managed to bypass gringotts' famously tight security, gain access to the lestranges' vault, pick out the cup from among all the other objects stored within [which would also require them to know that a shop-boy called tom riddle stole it from a woman called hepzibah smith] and then not get crushed to death by a rising tide of molten metal.

the diary is much less closely guarded - although voldemort evidently believes that lucius malfoy can be trusted to keep it safe until he tells him otherwise. but this - as dumbledore tells us in half-blood prince - is because voldemort wants it to be used, so that the chamber of secrets can be reopened, and that he's therefore prepared to take the risk of it being destroyed because he believes that his other horcruxes are so secure that the loss of the diary won't matter. this is also, i suspect, his view of nagini - which is why him moving to protect her is taken by both dumbledore and harry as the signal that no other horcruxes remain.

snape must know, then, that voldemort has made horcruxes, because voldemort must, however obliquely, have told him so.

and he must figure out that the diary and the ring are horcruxes specifically. he's clearly the source of dumbledore's information that voldemort's fury when he discovered the diary had been destroyed was "terrible to behold".

and he must be the person who prompts phineas nigellus black to drop the info that dumbledore used the sword of gryffindor to break open the ring. harry and hermione assume this is something black lets slip without knowing its significance, but we know from the prince's tale that he visits them at snape's request in order to find out how the horcrux hunt is going.

[on the sword of gryffindor, snape's statement - "and you won't tell me why it's so important to give potter the sword?" - has to be taken as asking why the sword is so crucial to the destruction of a horcrux that he's being forced to go to great personal risk to give it to harry in order for this overall argument to work... but i think this reading is plausible - not least because voldemort knows that harry was left the sword in dumbledore's will, since wizarding wills are examined by the ministry, and could undoubtedly find out very easily if he wanted to that the sword snape places in the lestranges' vault is a fake.]

the reason that snape doesn't participate in the horcrux hunt in any more specific way relates to the point about genre conventions and child-heroes made above.

the reason that the horcrux hunt takes the form it takes isn't because horcruxes themselves are magic so arcane and unknowable that only the trio, dumbledore, and voldemort are aware they exist. it's because harry - even more than dumbledore - is the only person who knows voldemort well enough to figure out what the horcruxes are made from and where they are.

[this is why i don't vibe with stories which assume the hunt goes quicker if snape - or sirius or anyone - helps the trio. the point is that nobody but harry could figure out that voldemort would be seething about not having a vault at gringotts, or that he would have hidden the diadem the night of his failed job interview.]

snape appears to know the adult voldemort reasonably well, but there's no evidence at all that he knows anything about his life prior to c.1970 - either from dumbledore or from voldemort himself. this means that he would be absolutely no help when it came to guessing what the horcruxes were - the diary, ring, cup, diadem, and locket all presuppose the knowledge that voldemort was once called tom riddle, after all.

which makes him useless to harry when it comes to hunting them down. by the time dumbledore dies, harry knows with near-absolute certainty what five of the horcruxes are: the diary, ring, cup, locket, and snake. he knows for a fact that two of these have been destroyed, he and dumbledore believe they've just got their hands on a third, and he knows where a fourth is [nagini, next to voldemort]. the location of the cup - and the form and location of the sixth horcrux, the diadem - is something only harry has the ability to work out. the seventh - harry himself - is information dumbledore has ordered snape to keep hidden until the appointed time.

meaning that snape clearly does know what a horcrux is - both in theory and when four [diary, ring, nagini, harry] of voldemort's own are put in front of him - but that this knowledge is sufficiently incomplete as to be irrelevant to the quest harry's engaged in which takes up the narrative's time.

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 53 : surrender

They try to make a deal with Laozi, things go south

Nezha was pacing right and left in his temple. The whole team was huddled inside, the ship parked just outside. The heavenly guards retreated after some words from the lotus prince, leaving them alone. Macaque felt better without being threatened by spears’ blades. Wukong was sprawled on the black-furred monkey's lap, not at all bothered by everything that happened around him. He was grooming Sock, who was laid like a loaf of fluff on his belly. 

“So let me get this right.” Sighed Nezha as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You guys want Laozi to help you with something and you want me to make sure he doesn't get out of line.” The lotus prince glanced at the great sage and frowned. “And Sun Wukong is… incapacitated. What happened to him?”

Macaque tensed, out of all the people in Heaven Nezha was the one he trusted the more, but it didn't mean he was ready to reveal the truth behind Wukong's state. What if Nehza repeated it? What if Heaven learned the Monkey King had PTSD? What if they used it? Perhaps Macaque was paranoiac. But he couldn't help himself. In his mind, Heaven was mingled with pain no matter what he tried to do. It'll take great efforts for him to remove himself from this thought. 

“Oh he's stre-” Began MK, but Macaque cut him before he could end his sentence. 

“He's cursed.” Blurted Macaque. It was a rather crude explanation, but it was better to make them believe Wukong was in this state because of a malicious spell rather than reveal the weaknesses of his sun's mind. 

Nezha frowned, Macaque could see suspicion brewing in the depth of his eyes. The warrior hoped he wouldn't ask any more questions. The lotus prince sighed and brushed the subject aside with a flick of wrist. 

“Alright. No matter.” Mumbled Nezha. He stopped his pacing and turned towards the team. “I'll accompany you. I don't want to let you guys run free here.” The black-furred monkey sighed in relief. MK shouted in victory while Mei nodded as if she predicted this outcome. Silly kids. “Leave your ship here.” Added Nezha after a bit. 

The lotus prince turned towards the heavenly servants that were running around his temple to build it back anew. His temple had been destroyed by the shockwave following the breaking of the barrier guarding the samadhi fire map. Macaque winced at the damages. Luckily, Nehza didn't seem like the type to hold grudges. If he was, they would have been quite troubled. The lotus prince warned his servants about the situation and told them to keep up with the good work. He, astonishingly enough, seemed like a genuine boss. Perhaps it shouldn't be this surprising considering he seemed like the type to care about fairness. 

The whole team followed Nezha outside after this. The lotus prince summoned a large white cloud with a flick of wrist and gestured for them to settle on it. Clouds were the most common means of transport in Heaven. Perhaps because they were closer to the sky, wind magic and all its sub-types, like the control of clouds, was easier to handle. Macaque settled at the back of the cloud, Wukong greedily latched on him, like a clam refusing to let go of its rock. The sage had Sock on his back. He didn't want to part with her either. The warrior was already used to the odd elasticity of clouds after being hoasted on it a number of times by his unruly sun, he wasn't that surprised by the texture. MK wasn't either, he had his own clouds after all. The others however, especially those with no prior experiences, took the time to marvel at the strange texture. 

They drifted on the winds till they reached Laozi’s laboratory. It was a house with red tiles nestled in the corner of the region. Intricate designs were carved on the door. Imagery of lotus and phoenixes. Nezha was the first to hop off the cloud, he approached the door and knocked, a thin layer of dust flew in his face due to the knocks's vibrations. Nezha frowned and fanned the dust away. 

The place was unkempt. There were weeds growing under the house, serpentine plants sneaking higher and higher on the stoned walls, almost as if claiming them. The tiles were whitening at the edges, like they were covered in a thin layer of snow, and the path leading to the front door was forever lost in the mud. 

The door creaked open and one youngful eye filled with mischief peeked out from within the laboratory. The eye widened at the sight of Nezha and the door flew open. The face that welcomed them was round, full of childish fat, and creased by an innate deviltry. The young lad bowed to the lotus prince and greeted him with all the decorum needed when one crossed path with a titled being. Nezha cut short the flattery with a curt sign of hand. 

“Is your master here?” Asked the lotus prince. The young lad nodded frantically, his head bobbing like a disarticulated doll. 

“Yes, yes, Master Laozi is inside.”

“Great. We have matters to discuss.” The apprentice nodded and stepped back to allow the others inside. Once the young lad crossed eyes with Wukong and Sock, he bowed once more while mumbling “Great sage. Little sage.”

Macaque snorted. This lad wouldn't be so respectful if he knew they came here illegally without notifying the Jade Emperor in advance. Heaven had very strict laws regarding entries and exits. One couldn't come in as they wished. There was an order of things. And more often than not this order was too slow. Immortals didn't live at the same pace as mortals. One year was nothing but the blink of an eye for them. A drop lost in the ebb of eternity. Macaque didn't have that much time. 

Laozi was leaning over his furnace. There were traces of frost all over it. A bad memory left in the wake of the ice wraith. Another disciple was at his side, balancing different tools on his plate, helping his master as much as he could. His skin wax wrinkled by age and his beard was as white as the first snow in winter. He had a spark in his weasel-eyes. Something that fed on knowledge like a famished beast pouncing on carcasses. Nezha cleared his throat to catch his attention. 

The old immortal turned towards them. His eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps he didn't expect any visitors today. Macaque unconsciously put a hand on the sage's head. His fingers tensing in the soft golden fur. He never met Laozi before. It was nice to our a face under his name. Macaque vowed to never forget this face. He carved it in his mind. Like a brand made with hot red iron. 

“It's been a long time since I had so much visitors.” Cackled Laozi, he caressed his long beard with one hand. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“We have a favor to ask you.” Explained Pigsy with a huff. He crossed his arms and looked around the laboratory with distaste. Probably put off by the mess. 

Laozi's eyes burned with curiosity, he gestured for them to sit and encouraged them to elaborate with a curt nod. Macaque didn't sit. Instead he stood on his two feet, Wukong was curled around his legs, like a lazy lion, with Sock pawing at his back. 

“I was revived by necromancy.” Brutally revealed Macaque. He could see Nezha snap forward at the information. His eyes widened and latched on his figure like a hawk latch on its prey. Something akin to pity was swirling in his eyes. Contrary to him, Laozi didn't seem that phased. He hummed in consideration but no flicker of warmth passed through his eyes. He was a man of science. He didn't care about the lives of strangers. The team quickly followed his lead. Choosing to honestly reveal their intentions. They couldn't hide them for long if they wanted help anyway. 

“We hoped you could heal Mr Maquack.” Tentatively asked Sandy with a steeled will. 

“We gathered fragments of an artifact we believe can be used to heal his current state.” Added Red Son, he showed the lantern pieces. They were all piled upon one another in the depth of a red cloth bag hanging on his hips. Laozi perked up at the mention of an artifact. He leaned in to take a better sight at the lantern pieces. 

“May I?” Asked the old immortal as he gestured towards the pieces, he wanted a look. Red Son flinched, he glanced at Macaque, looking for his opinion. Macaque pushed through his unease and nodded. The lantern pieces would end in Laozi's hands if he was ought to help them anyway. The fiery boy handed one piece to the old immortal. 

Laozi took the piece of mahogany wood and eyed it intently. He twirled it. Observing it under all angles. The laboratory dim light was gliding on the dark wood. Giving it a warm edge. Laozi's smile seemed to wan when he noticed a cold whisper leaving the wood. 

“This… this was one of the artifacts the wraith used, wasn't it?” Asked the old immortal with a sigh on his lips. 

“Yeah she used it to create her mech or something.” Answered Mei. 

“I'm familiar with this.” Sighed Laozi. He turned towards his furnace and longingly caressed its edge. “This one is more like a refrigerator than a furnace now.” The old immortal turned back to them with a pensive face. “Can I ask a few questions before deciding?”

The team reluctantly agreed. Nezha stayed close to them, his gaze never leaving the old man. Laozi eyes traveled on each of them, lingering on Wukong for one brief instant, before settling on Macaque. 

“How long has it been since your master died?” Macaque bristled at the use of the word “master”. The Lady Bone Demon had never been his master. She was his persecutor. His torturer. His nightmare. His fear. His pain. But she wasn't something as revered as a master. Wukong sensed his anger and pawed at his purple pants, chirping in confusion. The black-furred monkey snapped out of his thoughts, he looked down at the great sage and patted his head.

“Almost a year now.” 

Laozi's eyes widened in surprise. He rushed towards the macaque and stood one breath away from him. His face shining with something akin to curiosity. It was like facing a drugman addicted to knowledge. “Are you lying?”

“I am not.” Muttered Macaque as he stepped back, Laozi in turn took one step forward. Wukong sensed his uneasiness and growled at the old immortal. 

“Okaaay, that's a bit too close.” Awkwardly chuckled MK as he stepped in-between Macaque and the old immortal. Laozi huffed and stepped back. The monkie kid then reached for the lantern piece Laozi still possessed, the old immortal parted with it reluctantly. 

Laozi gestured something to his apprentice. They both nodded and went to the back of the laboratory. Macaque couldn't properly see what they were doing but he heard the rustling of paper and the bat of a wing. 

“Perhaps, it isn't that surprising. Your kind has always been out of the norm.” Mumbled Laozi with a hand on his chin, he stroked his beard and smiled at them, his lips parted slowly, revealing rows of round teeth. “Still, it is very fascinating to see a living-dead not crumbling on itself after the death of its master.” The whole team tensed at the use of the words “living-dead”, this was a sore spot for them. Pigsy glared at the old immortal, Tang face hardened, Sandy good natured smile twitched with repressed anger and the kids flinched in recoil. Macaque gritted his teeth. The liu'si weight on his back was becoming heavier. He was almost tempted to take them out but he restrained himself. 

“Can you help us?” Sighed MK. 

“It would be interesting but I don't want to do it for free.” Drawled the old immortal. “I'm not a charity work.”

“What do you want?” Mumbled Macaque. Laozi gaze fell on Wukong once more. 

“Before that, can I ask what happened to the Great Sage?”

“A curse.” Curtly replied the black-furred monkey. 

“I see, well perhaps this is for the better. I have no interest in gold or anything you can provide. Knowledge however is another matter. And, you see, I always regretted that I couldn't pursue my study of the great sage immortality back in the days.” Hummed Laozi, his words coated in honey, as if he wasn't talking about burning someone alive. “Of course, I will not do anything that he will not be able to withstand. I simply want to test the great sage resilience.” Macaque growled. His hands tensed. He wanted oh so badly to take his spear and hurl it at this man. 

“No.” Spat the warrior with narrowed eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“I assure you he will be safe.” Retorted Laozi. Macaque didn't want to hear another word pass this serpent mouth. 

“We're out of here!” Growled the warrior as he turned around, not willing to stay another second in this place. The others seemed to understand his fury. They nodded, not without glaring at the old immortal. Nezha seemed quite tense too. 

“Would you really pass on such a great deal?” Hummed Laozi. “Do you really have such time to waste?”

Macaque flinched. It was true that his time was limited. But no matter how much he was afraid of death, no matter how much he hoped for the day his blood wouldn't smell rotten anymore, he couldn't sacrifice his sun for this. He would rather die than let Sun Wukong relive the horrors he once lived through. Macaque pushed the laboratory doors open, he was greeted by heavenly soldiers and the stern face of Erlang Shen. 

“Ah Erlang! I see you got my message.” Chirped Laozi with cranking eyes. 

“You spoke of people entering Heaven through illegal means.” Hummed the three eyed god. Macaque tensed. Images of fire erupted in his mind. “I see now what you mean.”

“What is the meaning of this, Laozi?” Growled Nezha. “Erlang, I am taking care of them.”

“Yet you neglected to notify the Emperor of their presence. Rules are meant to be followed, Nezha, or chaos will prevail.” Coldy answered the heavenly general. “I will escort you all to a guest residence and make the necessary paperwork for your presence to be accepted. Your ship has already been seized. Now, if you will follow me.” 

“Erlang, please. I am surveilling them. We don't need the paperwork.” Sighed the lotus prince. Erlang Shen gaze seemed to soften ever so slightly. But his face didn't lose an ounce of sterness. 

“The last time we allowed them in Heaven without doing the right paperwork, they stole Laozi's furnace and it ended in the Lady Bone Demon's hands. I cannot be indulgent anymore.” Replied Erlang. 

“No but, you know, we were trying to save the world from the Spider Queen.” Tried to justify MK with a nervous chuckle but Erlang Shen was unrelenting. 

“Well, it seems like you are gonna stay here for quite some time.” Chuckled Laozi. “You'll have a lot of time to rethink your refusal.”

Macaque clenched his fists. He wanted to fight. He itched to pave his way through the sea of soldiers with his spear. He felt Wukong press closer to him and calmed down. No. This wasn't about his urges. Even if he wanted to claw and make them bleed, he needed to protect his sun. They couldn't have Heaven against them. 

For now, they needed to surrender.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[polariscroquis]

The last study I did on my Arthurian Legend character concepts: the woman herself, Guinevere.

As I stated before, I'm following more the 5th century, fighting saxons on the bloody fields of Britain praying to pagan gods, rather than the very Catholic version of the later medieval retellings.

Therefore, my Guinevere is very much pagan and tough hahahaha for a guy like Arthur to fall madly in love with her - and a guy like Lancelot too, of all the men in that island - she had to be one hell of a woman.

I always imagined her with fiery hair, very tall and athletic even, with killer eyes - so here she is.

More on her design and how her character fits in my personal take of the Arthurian Legend, under the cut!

Regarding the colors I chose for her, I went with a darker blue and gold to give her that regal look she would certainly have - also this tone of blue contrasts with her coppery hair, so I thought it would look good!

She has two versions, because one would be Court Guinevere while the other would be War Guinevere - both of them keep the cape, because I wanted something to be "constant" on her design. Also, the cape sort of gives her this imposing look, again something regal.

I remember watching George Lucas talking about how Anakin always wore a larger and darker cape/coat than other Jedis on the prequels so he would have that signature Darth Vader silhouette and imposing presence - given Hayden Christensen is taller than almost everyone in the movie xD I took that to heart and gave it to Guinevere 🖤

Now, from what I know, 5th century dresses weren't TOO filled with details as later medieval fashion, so I couldn't go crazy on her design here. I ended up using that wonderful painting, Accolade, as a reference for clothes.

With her war clothes, a little more complicated. Ended up searching for Jeanne D'arc references because I didn't want to have her look like King Arthur 2005's war Guinevere even though I LOVE those clothes.

Since she's a woman, it would make sense back then people would want her to stay as far away from slaughter as possible, so she has a bow. Everything is moon shaped with her, though, as a nod to the Great Goddesses, as well as the Goddess of the Hunt herself, Artemis.

Now on my take on how her character fits in my Arthurian world hahahaha

Guinevere loves Arthur a LOT. With Lancelot, though, both have their pagan upbringings and she doesn't have much of the moral compass Arthur has - she leans more on the Lancelot morality spectrum. She is a fighter, a queen, a woman with fire on her soul and enough intelligence to run entire kingdoms and destroy empires: and that's why both have fallen for her, even if she has eyes for only one of them.

While Lancelot has the charms, Arthur has the soul. Arthur can give her a safe place to fall and he can command a whole country like no one else - Guinevere admires that. And she is too great to be with a man she doesn't admire; she's never going to put herself down for a man. She needs to be with someone who meets her in equality.

Not that Lancelot doesn't, but all that ability to run kingdoms and such is not in him - even if he is prince of Benoic. Lancelot rather fight for someone like Arthur than command his own battles himself. He is a very good friend - probably the best friend Guinevere will ever have, given how everything she is also attracts envy from both men and women alike - but she wouldn't take him as a lover.

She will command kingdoms and fight in armies by Arthur's side, even if he doesn't want it - although Arthur is too proud and in love to ask Guinevere to be anything else than she is. They are indeed a power couple, and that, my friends, attracts all kinds of enemies - outside and inside the court.

That is MY personal take on Guinevere: a woman with too many abilities, too much willpower and intelligence, a fierce fighter and a cunning queen; the only one who could sweep the legendary Arthur off his feet - and that attracts the same amount of envy as admiration.

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

Disclaimer: I do not own any Planet Puto Character - Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto.This might or might not be a self insert, please don't come for me.

A/N: Am I insane and out of my mind? Yes. Was I in the middle of a creativity block and just pulled this world building shit out of thin air? Also yes.

~Royalty! AU~ INTRODUCTION

"That one looks half decent..."

Lakan smirked as he pointed into you using the sharp end of his sword, not caring if you're already trembling. Is it because of the fear? or maybe it's from being on your knees on the snowy ground with nothing but thin and tattered clothes for god knows how long, you don't really know at this point.

The military general leans down to your level hand grabbing your cheeks roughly and forcing you to look up at him.

"Tell me, peasant. What entertaining stuff can you do? Careful about your answer, your life depends on it." His voice, although very soft and playful has that menacing tone that didn't fail to give you goosebumps.

The ground was cold and the air was thick— filled with cries for mercy as Lakan's troops destroy and slaughter whatever they lay eyes on.

"I- I can play instruments and write poetry, Sir." You stuttered as your voice get struck in your throat.

"We're taking this one home." Lakan grinned at your response before letting go of your face.

"This will do for Maliksi's birthday present. Now let's pack up before the enemy's reinforcements arrive. Just set fire to everything then let's call it a day."

The servants looked at you somberly as you were dragged out of the carriage and into the palace gates, the soldiers handling you roughly. You can't blame them, after all you are nothing but a peasant from the losing side of this wretched war. These people are the ruthless victors, their hands soaked with the blood of your fellow civilians that unfortunately got caught in the middle of slaughter.

"Lakan, what is the meaning of this?" A firm voice caught your attention but you kept your head lowered on the ground.

Makisig quickly motioned towards his courtesans to help you stand up as he walked towards Lakan.

"Oh, if it isn't my own brother, the King." Lakan tauntingly said as he bowed slightly. He's always despised the idea of Makisig ascending to the throne despite being younger than him.

That position was meant for him, yet here he is, reduced to being the general who spends more time outside the palace walls instead of seating on that fancy throne he's always dreamt of.

"Cut it out! What are you doing? You do know that the enemies already called defeat and you can't be taking in anymore war prisoners!"

"Prisoner? That one was a present for our youngest brother."

"A present?! Our brother is nothing like you! He won't enjoy such fatuity—"

"And? Who does he take after then? Everyone here knows that the young prince isn't soft like you! Hell, I bet he'll be a better king than you!"

Makisig's royal guards quickly drew blade and pointed it at the general. They will not stand for any slander against the King. It is a crime of treason afterall and will be punishable by death. The King sighed, "Lower your blades! He's still my brother."

Lakan softly chuckled as he turned to walk away. "See? I told you. Soft. Please have your courtesans clean up and dress that girl, then take her to my room. I'll deliver her myself to Maliksi."

You shivered at the first touch of cold water into your skin as the royal courtesans started giving you a bath. You've literally been in crossfire and to say that you are filthy is an understatement. You didn't even know how Lakan was able to spot you amongst the civilians.

No one was talking, probably out of pity for you and what you went through— your kingdom just lost the war, your town was burnt to a crisp, you watched the others getting killed infront of you. You are someone who lost everything.

After your bath, they dressed you up in a fine dress, probably too grand from what you were expecting, and then they proceeded to put your curly hair up in a bun using an intricate pin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you can't help but admire your reflection. Funny what a bath and some fancy fabric can do.

"You look pretty." One of the courtesans whispered as she gave you a kind smile. All of them looked hopeful and sweet, probably wishing you good fate inside the very walls of this palace just like them. They all lined up as they silently lead you to Lakan's quarters.

"Bring her in and leave." Lakan said from the inside of the room before the royal courtesans can even knock. They did just that but before they finally close the door, they looked at each other before giving you a reassuring nod.

As soon as the doors closed, the royal courtesans raced towards Maliksi's quarters. He wasn't the friendliest towards them, and they will surely be yelled at for disturbing him at this time, but they all know Lakan and the poor fate every other lady went through after spending time alone with him in his quarters. They cannot just do nothing after sending you to your possible doom.

Lakan's room is dark yet you can feel his stares boring a hole to your very being. "Guess I was right, you do look good."

The general smirked as he slowly walked towards you. "A poet and a musician doesn't have a right to look this good. It'll be such a waste to just give you to my youngest brother afterall." He softly said, his hot breath fanning into your neck as he leans in while his hand reaches out to slightly slide the dress down and reveal your left shoulder.

"Maybe I should get a taste first, before giving you to Maliksi."

You grabbed fistfuls into your dress as you held yourself from talking back or trying fighting him off— you knew this man would not hesitate in killing you if you do something as much as turn down his advances.

You can feel warm tears form and trickle down your cheeks, knowing that you can't ask him to stop if you wanted to live.

"I don't accept leftovers, brother. It's rude to gift someone stuff that you already used." A cold voice emerged from the shadows as you felt being snatched from Lakan's grip and being pulled as someone held you gently by your waist.

"Gods! Maliksi, can you stop doing that?! I know that you're the only one blessed with magic among us but just stop popping out of the shadows, it creeps me out. Can't you use a fucking door like a normal person?"

"It's called teleportation magic. I didn't popped out of the shadows, your room is just as dark as your soul. Anyway, you boldly declared this lady as a present for me earlier and I have eyewitnesses. I came here to pick her up." Maliksi nonchalantly said as he rolled his eyes, still holding you close to him.

"It's those courtesans...I knew it! If it weren't for the King's protection, I would've already cut their heads off." Lakan muttered underneath his breath while he gritted his teeth. "Aaaww, come on, brother! Can't we share just this once—"

Maliksi's expression hardened as he looked Lakan up and down. You can feel just how intimidating this man is despite him being shorter than the general.

"I believe we already established that since we were kids....That if you try touching what's mine, I'll be burning your fingers off." The young prince coldly said, his grip on your waist slightly tightening.

Lakan chuckled as he slowly backed away. He wasn't irritated at how his youngest brother is acting— oh, this is so much better than him being a big pretentious softy just like the King.

"As you wish, brother." The general smiled, everything is going according to his plan afterall.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Hi! Welcome to the Royalty! Au that involves Planet Puto (philmytcrea au) characters. I do not own them, they are HC's Original Characters.

Please follow and support them here: https://www.tumblr.com/ask-emilz-de-philz / @ask-emilz-de-philz

I wanted to take time to clarify that this is fiction on fiction.

Yes, Lakan, Makisig, and Maliksi are brothers in this AU.

Yes, we hab King! Makisig here.

Lakan is the oldest, but Makisig was the one who ascended to the throne after their father died.

Yes, there is an ongoing war and Y/N (You/ Reader) is from the enemy kingdom who just declared Loss/ Defeat against Makisig's Kingdom.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND APPRECIATING WHAT I WRITE! ;;

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

It’s time for another Fic Rec List fellow humans!!!

And boy howdy do I have a LOT this time lmao. A good chunk of them are Kyle-centric, bc I, like my son Stan Marsh, have been fixated on that guy. Also there are multiple from the same authors bc I find something I like and read EVERYTHING by them.

There’s a range of pairings on this list too bc I’ll read pretty much anything (still mostly style they do be my favorite) so hopefully if u see ur favorite ship or an intriguing concept this’ll steer you to somethin u like!

Here ya go!

* (rem)ember by boxwinebaddie. Ok we all knew I was gonna start the list w this one bc I am OBSESSED!!! Style holy shit! Crimson Dawn! Mentally unstable law student Kyle! RAVEN!!! The friendships and group dynamics! Rm lives rent free in my head dude plsplspls check it out!

* Painted In Shrouds by courtanie. Y’all want some Kysterion? This is one of my favorites! And NOBODY does Kenny like this author seriously. We got espionage! We got organized crime! We got overworked cfo Kyle! We got working together to take down the bad guys! We got blood and injuries and falling in love!

* Swansong by OrcaTimes. Fair warning this made me ugly cry. No one writes Craig like OrcaTimes YALL the Cryle destroyed me and doctor Craig always slays!!! It’s a beautiful story about love and grief, just GORGEOUS!!!

* Collector by cement_shoes. WHOLESOME STYLE ONESHOT!!! Them over the years, taking care of each other, Kyle handling bugs for Stan when he’s scared of them, growing up together and the trials of being human, but with someone always on your side. This one is SO sweet and gorgeously written, and a quick read too.

* A Ballad Of True Hearts by luckypoppies. Dude we all know I’m feral about SOT Style and THIS RIGHT HERE EATS!!!!! The history, the betrayal, the FANTASY VIOLENCE AND THERES THIS FIGHT SO FAR THAT SLAYS SO HARD! Being falsely accused of treason and subsequently exiled, tasked with escorting your prince to safety, GOD you just FEEL for the boys in this (plus we got them taking care of each other like yes yes gimme that fantasy whump) the world building is AWESOME I love sot AU’s and how different authors come up w the lore!

* Behind The Wall by Jwink85. Alright this one STARTS OUT nice, and is such an accurate representation of manipulative abusive relationships. Damien man holy shit. There’s so much going on in this, and the STAN PLOT OMG (yes style I love them) Kyle and Stan reconciling, Ike is my DISTRUSTING KING, high school angst, Tweek and Kyle friendship, Kenny being an icon, and I’ve said before but I love when Kyle’s written as generally wanting to see the good in people but still fiery in his own right, this is (a lot of jwinks stuff really that’s why I like their works so much) a great example of that!

* Simply Expandable by Kivea. YO WHO ORDERED THE MOB AU!!! Dude we got private investigator Craig, rival gangs, supernatural elements and mystery, conspiracy, fucking MOB BOSS KYLE?!?!? Kyle’s a bamf in this holy shit and bodyguard Stan, (this is Cryle btw and it’s fantastic) former k2, twenny, underground fighting rings, some KICKASS gang fights and the true antagonists bro the reveal was SICK! And when I say it’s a The Gangs All Here fic, I mean EVERYONE it’s wild and such a fun read it had me on the edge of my seat!

* And The Lightning Cracks The Sky by PastorCraigEnjoyer. Yeah yeah it’s cringe to rec your own shit sue me. But like Druid prince Kyle, Smokejumper Stan, forest fires, little mermaid but in the northern rockies ass plot, OVERLY PERCEPTIVE KENNY, mutual pining, magic, my beloved injury recovery (I gotta fuck Stan up ok) (I’m the worst)(giving Kyle chronic pain who me never) falling in love and saving each other’s lives, EVIL Cartman, I LOVED WRITING THIS ONE SO FUCKING MUCH it’s truly my baby.

* A quiet place (where I can scream how I love you) by sleep2thefr33zing. Coming of age style!!! So much emotional tension dude the pining is so fucking good, the first chapter is Stan’s perspective and the second one is Kyle and it’s BEAUTIFULLY PAINFUL WHEN THEYRE BOTH DOWN BAD BUT THINK THE OTHER ISNT!!! I love them being there for each other through all the bullshit of growing up, how resonant their falling outs are, it’s just so incredibly gorgeous and you really feel their emotions along with them.

* Knives by SparrowGrim. Ok so kyman isn’t my cup of tea but I’m putting it on the list bc some people do like it and this is an OBJECTIVELY FANTASTIC STORY!!! Tbh I only clicked bc I saw that it was Kyle centric (and that injury tag what can I say I eat that shit up) but I was HOOKED! Dark urbania, gangs running the streets, THE CODE NAMES SLAY SO HARD, we also got creek bunny stendy dip, the character relations are all so cool and the plot is WILD! Also Butters Kenny Stan and Craig are so badass jesus. Not even a ship I like but I loved the story.

* Peering Through Windows by Jwink85. C’mon I gotta have another jwink on the list and this one is SO. FUCKING. GOOD. K2 has been one of my favorites lately and THIS!!! We got dark cryle (my beloved) but when I say dark I mean CRAIG IS SO DEPRAVED!!! Like dude. But the story is THRILLING and artist Kenny is so kickass, Stan is a dad I literally cried over that small detail lmfao and I love jwinks Kyles and their idealistic nature (also I’m a sucker for any artist character) this story broke my heart and mended it again it’s incredible.

* Hunger Pains by Bellweather. Ain’t nobody doin Stan like bellweather MY SWEET PRECIOUS BOY UGH!!! The style is so great omg. The main four dynamic in this is wonderful, them trying to help Kyle through his ED (damn I really do read a lot of shit where Kyle’s suffering huh) all the characters are so well fleshed out and IKE I LOVE IKE IN THIS! The chapters have individual content warnings which is a great touch. Craig having prophetic dreams! Kenny dying multiple times! Chaos! Teenage camaraderie! There’s plenty of humor to make up for the dark shit but it DOES get dark. The mystery element in the beginning is really cool too I definitely have read this one multiple times.

* Find Somebody by hypercatt. STYLE!!! Stan-centric and so so so good, I love a platonic stendy team up too. some of the senior class goes “missing” and WHEN I TELL YALL I WAS so nervous that I read it out of order to make sure everything turned out okay lmao seriously this one had me WRITHING! There’s a gorgeous analogy throughout of physical hurts as a metaphor for mental illness and healing that just SPOKE TO MY SOUL!!! And there are so many beautiful moments, especially near the end, and the message of opening up and not running from your problems is beautifully written. Another one that occupies my brain lmao.

* To Have And To Hold by courtanie. Yes this is another one where Craig is SERIOUSLY DEPRAVED but hear me out!!! The plot, like I would DIE to adapt this to the screen, you feel like you’re watching a dark kidnapping race against time when reading this. And THE K2 IN THIS HOLY FUCK!!! Another one of my favorite Kennys ever and it’s so frustrating for the reader and the characters because WE ALL KNOW WHO TOOK KYLE BUT THE COPS ARENT DOING SHIT! The ending is unbelievably satisfying and the rest of the gang teaming up is so awesome STAN AND KENNY GOING FERAL OVERPROTECTIVE I live for that. But god the shit Kyle is subjected to, but he doesn’t lose that fire (Kyle ily sry)

* When The World Shakes, Hold Me by Bellweather & Blinkxs. The world building in this is PHENOMENAL!!! Post apocalyptic stuff, survival, STYLE!!! Some serious dark themes tho this is a heartbreaking read like damn check the tags frfr but the writing is MAGNETIC!

* -South Park- Style Sickfic/ Injury Fic Requests by AlwaysInSTYLE. Alright alright we all know I love my style hurt comfort and this is a request book/ oneshot series that’s JUST Stan and Kyle taking care of each other and I LOVE IT. you’d think it would get old but it DOES NOT. they’re not repetitive at all, and really fun reads! If you check it out, tell her PCE sent you we’re homies.

* Rookie Mistakes by espyonz. I love me some stenny and BRUH STANSTERION!!! Long oneshot that had me hooked. We got gentle hearted detective Stan who truly wants to protect and serve and is out of place in a corrupt police department. KENNY AS MYSTERION we know I love that shit, and he’s so awesome in this!!! The team up of Kenny Stan and Wendy to find missing people and uncover the truth behind their disappearances is AMAZING. We got Wendy as the tech girl which is SO slay (plus she and Heidi are together asjdhdks) and Kenny is hilarious in this, like he’s such a little shit and I adore this adaptation of his superhero persona. This one dropped LAST NIGHT and I’m so glad I didn’t make a red list post until now bc THIS NEEDED TO BE ON IT!!!

* Seven Candles by courtanie. Yep another one I’m tellin u, one of the best Kenny writers out there. So uhh Kyle in a Very Bad Situation again, like some of it was really tough to read. BUT!!! We got a war between heaven and hell!!! KENNY AS A FUCKING ARCHANGEL ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!? (I live for courtanie’s overprotective kenny holy shit) this is legitimately my favorite Kenny interpretation IVE EVER READ HES SO FUCKING AWESOME!!! Plus we got satan being Done with Damien’s shit lmao and Kyle making friends with a hellhound which is fun. THE FINAL BATTLE WAS SO COOL TOO I LOST MY MIND!

* Why Remind Me by Kasen. One of the best style oneshots BRUH it’s so good with such a wholesome ending and the FEELINGS CONFESSIONS!!! The boys playing superhero, then later we got high school style and an accident that leads to a reminder of a kiss and UGH ITS SO CUTE!! Just- just read this one I love it sm.